All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. "I could almost forgive the wretch the injury he did me in depriving me of my poor dear wife—No, not quite that," he added, a little confused. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Are you aware, Ann Veronica, you nearly throttled that gentleman?” Then she reviled her own foolish way of putting it. He died when I was. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. I wonder if a man can quite understand that passionate feeling? It is quite a passionate feeling. She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. We were two people with a craving.
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