“And if she can’t have the right one? “We’ve developed such a quality of preference!” She rubbed her knuckles into her forehead. My heart fails me. A row of magnificent, and even then venerable, elms threw their broad arms over this pleasant spot. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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