He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. Strange, demure-looking young woman, with wonderful complexion and eyes, and a style about her, too. “Married already,” he said, with his mouth full. Fear nothing.
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