My trouble is with your sister. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. She had a vision of policemen, reproving magistrates, a crowded court, public disgrace. Their flitting hands were always touching. Besides, it was under false pretences.
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