Her eye met Miss Stanley’s understandingly, and she was if anything a trifle more affectionate in her greeting to Ann Veronica. "What the devil makes you out so late? And what has happened to you, man, eh?—you seem in a queer plight. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. Do you think I would marry you? Rather would I marry the pig in the convent. Sebastian, too, seemed to be immune, even though cats, dogs, and beasts of the suffered just as the humans did: blackening and dying, their eyes rolling, their bodies covered with bald buboes.
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