Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. I know what I am talking about. ” “I shall do very well, thank you, ma’am,” he answered shortly. Rather! Who could help it?” He towered up over her and smiled down at her in his fatherly way.
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