“My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. There was a certain amount of disputation, and meanwhile she went on at school. He tried this sentence with expletives. There was nothing in the pockets of the coat. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. Your mother, for what it’s worth to you—for there’s nothing for you here, by God!—was the woman I chose for Nicholas. That register would be easy to get at; comforting thought. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. But his life, ruled by chance and the fight to survive had appealed strongly to Melusine’s rebellious spirit.
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