Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. Manning, I do not really want to marry. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do.
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