And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. ” Ahead of them walked a gentleman whom it was evident they must at their present pace very speedily overtake. “The white unaggressive woman who corrects and nurses and serves, and is worshipped and betrayed—the martyr-queen of men, the white mother. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. The world had not passed by but had gone around it in a tremendous half-circle. Miss Stanley threw aside a black cloak to reveal a discreet and dignified arrangement of brown silk, and then embraced Ann Veronica with warmth. “I like your brother better than any other man I know,” Anna said at last.
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