Everything. There was no longer any risk in association with her. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. The bridge was protected on either side by a railing with bannisters placed at wide intervals. “You might at least,” she murmured, “have invented a more romantic reason. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent.
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