Something unpardonable is laid to my charge. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. “I am sure,” she said, “that you mean to stay until you are turned out. "I am glad you think that," she replied. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her.
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