Ann Veronica watched him from the dining-room window, and after some moments of maidenly hesitation rambled out into the garden in a reverse direction to Mr. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. ‘Do not think—’ he panted, ‘that I am finished—with you, mademoiselle. . She found herself trying on the baubles he brought home, placing the silver rings upon her slim fingers, knowing that he would take up her hand and kiss it. Russell trouble, a good lot of trouble.
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