Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. Ruth flashed in and out of the sunshine; and he took note of the radiant nimbus above her head each time the sunshine touched her hair. What can a girl do? Somewhere at this point Ann Veronica’s speculations were interrupted and turned aside by the approach of a horse and rider. She rose at once with a little exclamation, half of surprise, half of pleasure.
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