‘I don’t want him having an apoplexy in this house. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over.
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