“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. But there was something in his face at once stupid and invincible that told her he would go on forcing himself upon her, that he would esteem speech with her a great point gained. Shamefaced curiosities began to come back into her mind, thinly disguised as literature and art.
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