The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. She lit the cigarette with a tiny Kelly green drugstore lighter. However, it would only be robbing the hangman of his dues. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. This formality irked her: she wanted to play a little, romp. The supreme effect for Ann Veronica was its surpassing relevance; it made every other atmosphere she knew seem discursive and confused.
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