She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons. She will not confide in me. He certainly bore inspection. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. “Through there,” he said, and pointed with the pamphlet he was carrying. “For my part I can see no difference in any of these French girls who come over here with their demure manner and atrocious songs. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. She was very pale, and there was a look of fear in her eyes.
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