This
last gave her a sense of power over him, and of motherly tenderness too.
She loved his stiff and halting Russian--it was as though he were but
ten years old.
I am convinced, too, that she did not consider that she was doing any
wrong to Vera. In the first place she was not as yet really sure that
Vera cared for him. Vera, who had been to her always a mother rather
than a sister, seemed an infinite age. It was ridiculous that Vera
should fall in love--Vera so stately and stern and removed from passion.
Those days were over for Vera, and, with her strong sense of duty and
the fitness of things, she would realise that. Moreover Nina could not
believe that Lawrence cared for Vera. Vera was not the figure to be
loved in that way. Vera's romance had been with Markovitch years and
years ago, and now, whenever Nina looked at Markovitch, it made it at
once impossible to imagine Vera in any new romantic situation.
Then had come the night of the birthday party, and suspicion had at once
flamed up again. She was torn that night and for days afterwards with a
raging jealousy.
She hated Vera, she hated Lawrence, she hated herself.
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