His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. “I’d sooner condemn you to Hell. Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their pockethandkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position. "Do you want it back under the pillow?" "Hang it over a chair. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. He slackened his pace as he reached the flat. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him.
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