I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. The terror faded from her eyes. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed.
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