Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. He whispered in her ear. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her.
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