The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. “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. ‘Come on. ” They passed a man who stared at them curiously. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. She threw him his car keys. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage.
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