“If you interfere between us,” the man said, “it will go hardly with you. “One doesn’t wait,” said Ann Veronica. "You are my prisoner. "Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. Restlessness, then, was the trouble, simple restlessness: home bored her. His bodily suffering, however, was nothing compared with his mental anguish. And behind— there was Paris, memories of amazing things, memories which made his cheeks burn and his heart beat quickly as he sat there waiting for her. For aught I know, they may be in the neighbourhood at this moment.
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