And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. "Give back the things!" cried the, lady. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. Ah Coom. She took his hand in hers.
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