‘You do not understand, Gérard. There one is! The same stuff still! One has a craving in one’s blood, a craving roused, cut off from its redeeming and guiding emotional side. ‘So it is that you have made Jacques betray me. . . There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. Ann Veronica watched her and wondered about her. . She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “I am very much obliged for the tea,” she said.
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