He wriggled underneath her heaving body, pinned like an insect. The others hurried to the window. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. I don’t know that I understand altogether. The study seemed absolutely unaltered, there was still the same lamp with a little chip out of the shade, still the same gas fire, still the same bundle of blue and white papers, it seemed, with the same pink tape about them, at the elbow of the arm-chair, still the same father. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. I’m sorry. He could not see these two shrinking misses capering about in a nun’s habit and brandishing a defiant pistol. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit.
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