“Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. “But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. Even in her hatred, she began to realize that Sebastian’s intelligence was much greater than Gianfrancesco’s. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears.
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