He sent a speculative glance at the immobile yellow face. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. “I am sorry. ‘And if he is dead I know not. ‘I do not see at all. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. ” She stopped, and then suggested: “I wonder—I should love—if it was anything I said. ’ She was silent for a space, and it was evident that this part of the story was still too painful to be recalled with ease.
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