"While I live you are safe," rejoined Trenchard; "after my death I can answer for nothing. “I—I am sorry—I didn’t explain. ” “Couldn’t I make a treaty?” Ann Veronica thought, and could not see any possible treaty that would leave it open for her to have quasi-surreptitious dinners with Ramage or go on walking round the London squares discussing Socialism with Miss Miniver toward the small hours. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. All the same, I don’t admit it.
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