Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily. And like that gospel it meant something, something different from its phrases, something elusive, and yet something that in spite of the superficial incoherence of its phrasing, was largely essentially true. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. Michelle pulled a Kleenex out of a Pocket Pack and blew her nose. That window there…. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete.
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