Away off in the fields the bluesmocked peasants bent still at their toil. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her.
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