And the less “anything” happened the better. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. ” “Where?” He asked. Lady Ferringhall listened, and her cheeks grew pale. I'm no great judge of these articles, Ma'am; but I trust to your honour not to palm off paste upon me.
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