The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. She met his eyes for a moment, and could not interpret their expression. It was not human and yet very human, a high pitched wail of hunger that rattled her skull. ‘You had better kill me, mademoiselle, because otherwise I shall end by strangling you. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse.
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