Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage. She began to weep in long, aching sobs. He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. ‘At this present, I must appropriate Lady Bicknacre.
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