And then at the street corner she came face to face with Nigel Ennison. “The fact of it is, and this absurd project of yours only brings it to a head, you have begun to get hold of some very queer ideas about what a young lady in your position may or may not venture to do. Though there is something to be said for your idea of a secret convent, at least as a hiding place. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. ” He fumed. “I have answered all your questions,” she said. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. When I absorb a fact, my brain weighs the fact carefully and stores it away.
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