Ann Veronica tried to keep hold of a complicated situation and not lose her head. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. When a mere child she fixed her affections upon a youth named Thames Darrell, whom her father brought up, and who perished, it is supposed, about nine years ago; and she has determined to remain faithful to his memory. She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo.
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