"What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Surely Capes was different. He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. He was really very proud of her, and extraordinarily angry and resentful at the innocent and audacious selfreliance that seemed to intimate her sense of absolute independence of him, her absolute security without him. Prudence was the substance and Angelina the shadow; for Angelina never offered opinions, she only agreed with those advanced by Prudence. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. But this is not sufficient. Maybe others that I do not know about. If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead.
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