” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Not that he deliberately courted danger; it was rather the searcher, seeking analysis, the why and wherefore of this or that invading emotion. Late in July he finished the fourth story. “It’s not. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. I am one of those people who are interested in women, more interested than I am in anything else. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. He was even a little jealous of Sebastian.
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