“Violence won’t do it,” said Ann Veronica. A note of belligerency had crept into his tone. The splendid voices sang on from phase to phase of love’s unfolding, the ship drove across the sea to the beating rhythm of the rowers. “Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. "If I could only make you realize what you have done," he said, lamely. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. "Follow me, Thames," cried Jack, dropping into the chasm.
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