He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. One only.
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