Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. She floundered deep. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target. It was easy to discern Gianfrancesco’s mood.
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