The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. ‘You will keep yourself utterly quiet,’ he instructed, a growl in her ear as they headed for the door. More than ever a sense of confusion was upon Ennison. There was no one stirring in the flats. You have to marry me. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. His two wives have been here.
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