"Why do you laugh?" she asked gravely. Ann Veronica said nothing. Then—then we shall be together. This is altogether insupportable. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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