Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Her heartbeat quickened. “I did it for love of you,” he said. “Your affectionate “FATHER. Dim possibilities that she would not seem to look at even to herself gesticulated in the twilight background of her mind.
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