And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. She could not look at him through an interval that seemed to her a vast gulf of time. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. “Go to London,” said Ann Veronica. The place for reading. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury.
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