"Stir a foot, at your peril. But for him she might have been alive and happy. But if we had gone under—!” They regarded one another silently, and Ann Veronica had one of her penetrating flashes. I want to get away—to go to London. Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. It isn’t pretty, but we’re made so. To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic.
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