There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea. “It is unimportant,” she said. The curtains which she had left drawn were open, and the electric lights were turned on. “Ann Veronica,” he said, “I tell you this is love. Courtlaw. He was staring at her, openly gaping. It was Blueskin. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured. I cannot work, I cannot teach. I too, Anna, have watched and read of your success with—I must confess it—some misgiving. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me.
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