She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. "Get about your business!" "Thames!" cried Jack, beckoning to his friend. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style.
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