She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. “I got Sydney’s telegram at ten o’clock, and caught the ten-thirty from the Gare du Nord. “I’ll never be happy again! I hate you! But most of all, what you have made me! A flesh-eating demon cannibal, just like you! I should be dead, dead and lying at the bottom of the sea. It had ceased raining, but the atmosphere was moist and chill, and the ground deluged by the recent showers. To take Spring and Love out of her life, as if there were no human instincts to tell Ruth what was being denied her! And what must have been the man's thought as he came upon Ruth wearing a gown of her mother's? —a fair picture of the mother in the primrose days? Not a flicker of an eyelash; steel and granite outwardly. ” And thus it was that as Ann Veronica neared the gates of home, she said to herself: “I’ll have it out with him somehow.
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