But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. So he was forced to shift and proceed at another angle, forgetting his promise to McClintock to be temperate. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord.
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