Still, something had marked the face, something had left an indelible touch. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. “I will tell you when to stop. So go up-stairs and get your things together while I look out for a hansom. Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and dangerous complexion. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. The Pellissiers had been an old family in Hampshire, while his grandfather had driven a van. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. This one too she read. He laughed reassuringly.
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