“He couldn’t look me in the face and say it,” said Ann Veronica. CHAPTER XII. If you choose to requite me by detaining me, you are at liberty to do so. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman. The Wastrel did not relish this. His sword done with, he took up the bludgeon; balanced it in his hand; upon the points of his fingers; and let it fall with a smash, intentionally, upon the table. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. “Is it your maid?” he asked.
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