“Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. “Yes,” he said, “I shall come. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death. Not us. You are a girl with very little. No one will ever love you as I love you now. For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate.
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