The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again. ” He turned upon her almost fiercely. " The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control.
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