It seemed to him that speech would be an anticlimax. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations. “But you must forgive me, John. ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. It was her past now, not Annabel’s. There are certain smells, certain tinges to the air. I might utter a million, and still I doubt if I could make you understand.
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