238 < 30 > IN BED John drove her home after school nearly every day. He temporized, and the girl raised her eyes once more to his. “I am going to fetch some things that will be wanted if he pulls through the next hour. He was wrapped in a loose dressing-gown of light material, and stood near the corner where the women's dresses had just been thrown down, quite out of sight of all the party, except Mrs. ‘Fiddle, Gerald. That is what I’ve had on my conscience. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. The house had in fact been converted into a convent, but the fact could not be advertised, not even in the Catholic enclave that existed in this part of town. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. Their example was immediately imitated by the officers, constables, javelin men, and other attendants; and nothing was to be heard but shouts of laughter and jesting,—nothing seen but the passing of glasses, and the emptying of foaming jugs. ” “But if we were?” said Ann Veronica.
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