Part 4 At eight that evening Miss Stanley tapped at Ann Veronica’s bedroom door. "I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. “Women are mocked,” she said. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her. The joke of it is that he’s married to her now, and cuts me dead.
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