Like a petulant child he snapped. Ann Veronica felt no repulsion at the prospect. He embraced her fully. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. Put out your hand and bid me God-speed. The coach in which the prisoner had been conveyed was already broken to pieces, and the driver was glad to escape with life. Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me.
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