“Wonderful man!” said Ann Veronica, reassured, and stroking his cheek with her finger. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. The room seemed a vacuum. There was a strained, eager expression on his face.
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