"These writer chaps are queer birds. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. “You cannot! Oh, you cannot. Her companion was a portly handsome man, also dressed in a full suit of the deepest mourning, with the finest of lace at his bosom and wrists, and a sword in a black sheath by his side. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. Lucy was a hard worker and a good cook and because of those traits she and Sheila had gotten along most of the time. Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. “I think they do.
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