“John?” He turned around in the recliner. Our men had him fast, held down in a chair. “I didn’t ask you to get married. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. She was to be a Corsair’s Bride. “But what can one do?” asked Ann Veronica. One of the things that most surprised him in her was her capacity for blind obedience. He stepped in with a heavy foreboding of calamity. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Of all the entirely English women I know, you’re the only one with a French accent.
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