Men do not understand constancy as women do. Certainly I would not murder monsieur le major, even that he has made a threat to beat me. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. “I will do whatever you want,” said Ann Veronica. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape.
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