“One doesn’t wait,” said Ann Veronica. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. You say you love me and want to marry, but those are strong, potent words, words meant to last a lifetime. The Malays have one, too, but it's a rank imitation, tom-toms and all. And who is the man you are not allowed to marry? Valade, perhaps?’ ‘Dieu du ciel,’ exclaimed the girl, jumping up. .
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