He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. “We are to begin our married life to-night—here where I first met you. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. She read beautifully because the fixed form of the poem signified nothing. Place a pistol at my ear, and shoot me, if I've told you false. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. Ann Veronica had one of her flashes of insight.
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