"The danger's past," whispered Bess. “There’s morbid beauty,” said Ann Veronica. “Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Now lend me your own hand. Shrinking involuntarily back into the farthest corner of the seat, Jack buried his face in his hands. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers.
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