“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. “For me,” Manning went on, “this isn’t final. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. It feels like too much gold-dust clutched in one’s hand. Not a bark could be discerned on the river, except those already mentioned. She had killed him.
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