"But, if I should not return, take this purse to Edgeworth Bess. . He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. . My, um, my curfew. ’ ‘Only in hot blood, eh?’ grinned Gerald. “And yet I do it without compunction. ” “It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination.
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