In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. ‘If you love me, you will say it, or else I will blow off your head. And you’re as clean as fire. "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony. From his wallet he brought forth a yellow letter. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque.
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