Courtlaw opened his lips, but remained silent in the face of her imperative gesture. Probably she mistook you; probably she thought you cared. ‘Don’t want it to break out bleeding again. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon.
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