“But you do not know,” she whispered, “whether I am a married woman or not. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. If only this child were his: what good times they would have together! The thought passed on, but it left a little ache in his heart. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. Her faith in human beings revived.
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