A wild passion of shame and self-disgust swept over her. “I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. To dream and to labour: to you, my labour; to Ruth, my dreams. " "'Sblood!" cried Jackson, rising, "I can't sit still and hear Mr. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. “Why should it matter?” he said. Thwart me, and I become your mortal enemy.
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