“If it is a choice between the two,” she answered, “I must be Annabel Pellissier. And Ann Veronica walked beside him, trying in vain to soften her heart to him by the thought of how she had ill-used him, and all the time, as her feet and mind grew weary together, rejoicing more and more that at the cost of this one interminable walk she escaped the prospect of—what was it?—“Ten thousand days, ten thousand nights” in his company. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully. She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. You'd not know what to do without me, and shan't drive me off. Oh, to face facts! Gods! what a world it might be if people faced facts! Understanding! Understanding! There is no other salvation. Prudence shook her head. “Has he accused any one yet?” “Not yet,” he answered. I’m sorry.
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