His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. "Not as I loved mine. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. “John, you were never bound to me, you don’t owe me anything. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. ” “How dull you are,” the lady remarked. He came as an agreeable diversion from an insoluble perplexity. They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. Speak lower. He, a Chinaman, troubling himself over Occidental ideas! With his hands in his sleeves, he proceeded on his way.
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