She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. “I thought you wanted to have a talk to me,” she said. “I had a visit from Sir John in my rooms,” she said. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. “If it’s about that dance project,” he said, “it’s no good, Veronica.
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