‘I’ll take wine,’ the lady said briefly, turning back instantly to Hilary. Vitally, she had the letter that proved her identity as a Charvill: the one her father had written to the Abbess when he sent her to the convent. His eyes were narrow with desire like a panther’s as he grinned at seeing her visibly satisfied. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. Part 6 They spent the next Sunday in Richmond Park, and mingled the happy sensation of being together uninterruptedly through the long sunshine of a summer’s day with the ample discussion of their position.
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