"It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. Beyond was an avenue of tall poplars that rose like columns, disappearing into undulating hills that were black with sleeping houses and fertile soil. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to the days of grand Rome herself. Wouldn't it be fun to see his name on a book-cover some day? He'll go strutting up and down without ever dreaming he owed the whole shot to us. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. That he should pay forty pounds to help this girl who preferred another man was no less in his eyes than a fraud and mockery that made her denial a maddening and outrageous disgrace to him. She might scream until her voice failed; the natives would not come to her aid; they never meddled with the affairs of the whites. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. Quite trying of him not to be there when he is wanted. She would have to leave very soon. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. ‘God loves you, even if your father didn’t.
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