The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. The four tourists contributed varied sums: the spinsters ten cents each, the girl a shilling, the young man a Mexican dollar. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image. " "Then I must wait a long time," grumbled Blueskin. To be complete, my vengeance must be tardy.
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