“But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. " Mr. Analysis would come later, when the primitive conscience, satisfied, would cease to dominate his thought and action. I'll test him out later; see if there is any craving. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. He did not know what her game was, although he had a shrewd suspicion that she had been co-opted into it by her supposed husband, the soi-disant Valade. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries.
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