But—It’s just this: who was to be hurt?” “I wish no one had to be hurt,” said Ann Veronica. Jack was so harrassed that he felt half inclined to stand at bay. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. There is no future for me here. And for twelve years he has been so; until his long security, well-nigh obliterating remembrance of the deed, has bred almost a sense of innocence within his breast. Wood.
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