“We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult. Kneebone, Mrs. "What I do is for the best, and I can only hope she may have strength to bear the separation. The thought of their faces, and particularly of her aunt’s, as it would meet the fact— disconcerted, unfriendly, condemning, pained—occurred to her again and again. “Please stay,” she said briefly. The ring's yours, and you're mine.
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