If hate could kill, Ramage would have been killed by a flash of hate. All through the love music of the second act, until the hunting horns of Mark break in upon the dream, Ann Veronica’s consciousness was flooded with the perception of a man close beside her, preparing some new thing to say to her, preparing, perhaps, to touch her, stretching hungry invisible tentacles about her. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. She seemed to be endowed with superhuman strength.
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