She would not let her move. He started toward the dog with the idea of ejecting him, but Ruth intervened. Besides, she had admitted her identity. It did not shock her; it amazed her, interested her beyond measure. "The end is the most beautiful in English literature. She was no longer certain that she desired an Englishman, if she must judge of one in particular. What a pity! For all her ignorance of material things—the human inventions which served the physical comforts of man—how much she knew about man himself! She had seen him bereft of all those spiritual props which permit man to walk on two feet instead of four—broken, without resilience. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. “It is just six o’clock now.
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