Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. There was a little pause between them, full for Ann Veronica of rapid elusive suspicions and intimations.
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