“The doctor has asked me to give them my reasons—for shooting myself. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. She had not chosen her life, but she was foggy on whether or not it was right to deny others the right to join her in her suffering. ” Anna shook her head. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. She was not Madame Melusine Valade. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle.
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