He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand.
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