He loved Ann Veronica, he said; he was so mad to have her that he defeated himself, and did crude and alarming and senseless things. “No, don’t interrupt me. ’ ‘Yes, it’s all my fault,’ he agreed soothingly, ‘and you may rail at me presently as much as you please. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. She paced restlessly to the door and back again, biting her tongue on the hot words begging to be uttered. She was sore and overstrung, and it was intolerable to her that he should stand within three yards of her unsuspectingly, with an incalculably vast power over her happiness. ” She looked up at him quickly. He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. Her stifled misery had betrayed her.
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