“Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. “And what on earth,” he said, “do you think the world is made of? Why do you think I have been doing things for you? The abstract pleasure of goodness? Are you one of the members of that great white sisterhood that takes and does not give? The good accepting woman! Do you really suppose a girl is entitled to live at free quarters on any man she meets without giving any return?” “I thought,” said Ann Veronica, “you were my friend. Do you want to kill us both? Stop the thing. “What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. Her features were still slightly marked by the disorder alluded to in the description of her as a child,—but that was the only drawback to her beauty. She was practically destitute of jewellery. Already the seed of a tender dream was stirring. “There are no males at men to stare; A man scores always, everywhere. She stood among them, watching them and feeling curiously alien to them.
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