In the old days he had been something of an athlete—a runner, an oarsman, and a crack at tennis. ‘Do you tell me that my disreputable son had the infernal insolence to pass you off as that whoring Frenchwoman’s daughter?’ His answer was in their faces. He flung open the door and cast a quick glance round. One never knew when it would be necessary to resume her disguise. Then he took the pulse. “Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. " "Then I wish you good night. Think! Had you not better hurry back before Sir John discovers? You are his wife right enough. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble. “Anna, you are the dearest, bravest sister in the world,” she cried.
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