She drank and drank until his body was a lifeless husk, as light as a mannequin, virtually hollow of all but the fluid in his bones. He went to Harvard instead. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. "Have you got Jonathan out of the way?" he asked, in an eager whisper. It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. "It is your son. A pretty name for a pretty girl. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable.
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