And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. "And now, widow," he continued, "attend to the next verse, for it consarns a friend o' yours. She rapped again, louder. “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. ‘It did not seem to me that it was so. Still —there you are!” He paused. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. “I shall probably want you to come down to the ‘Unusual’ to-morrow morning,” he said. Accounts were now always where he could put his hand on them. “Just hope that the ground doesn’t shift and unearth them.
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