“Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. “The fool I have been!” he cried; and now speech was coming to him. From what she could tell, he truly had convinced himself that he was in love with her, but she knew that his ardor would fade eventually inasmuch as she knew John’s would.
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