Blackness was beginning to consume the cornfield. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. What more is there to be said? She defies me!” It was extraordinary. ‘Now then, my lad, you’re under arrest you are. ‘Do you not understand that I can trust no one—no one?’ ‘That is a pity,’ Gerald said, rising to face her. “The plain common-sense of the case,” he said, “is that we can’t possibly be lovers in the ordinary sense.
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