“He says you are frigid, Madame. Burn your palette and your easel. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. I defy you to explain it away. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. She felt anger at Sebastian, anger at the thrill that she felt in her loins upon seeing him, anger at herself for never having the courage to end her own life. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse.
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