“NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. "To be lonely! What is physical torture, if someone who loves you is nigh? But to be alone … as I am!… yes, and as you are! Oh, you haven't told me, but I can see with half an eye. He will return, and you shall be awaiting his arrival!” When her own underarms and groin turned pink, then blue, then black, she confined herself to bed. ‘How dull it must have been for you, poor little one. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. As it was, my oldest and trustiest setter, Abraham Mendez, received a blow on the head from one of the lads that will deprive me of his services for a week to come,—if, indeed it does not disable him altogether. It's kind of comforting to have you there.
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