“Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. ” She did not wait for Ann Veronica’s reply. He disappeared into its thick doors like a magician’s rabbit. She assumed with a kind of mesmeric force all the propositions that Ann Veronica wanted her to define. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. But all those empty years!… My heart was hot. I hadn’t heard of him before the trial.
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