" "It's a hopeless job," grumbled Blueskin, "and harm will come of it. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. The young man's imagination suddenly pictured the man as a rock, loosed from its ancient bed, crumbling as it fell. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. But the stone was slippery; and the tide, which here began to feel the influence of the fall, was running with frightful velocity. I arranged that he should. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. And at last Ann Veronica and Miss Miniver came down the dark staircase and out into the foggy spaces of the London squares, and crossed Russell Square, Woburn Square, Gordon Square, making an oblique route to Ann Veronica’s lodging. I’d rather die than hear any more fairytales.
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