How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it. “It’s something that bothers me. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. Above her head was an aura of white fire. Hadn’t the stomach to admit the truth, had he? I’ll lay any money he labelled you with some foul French name as well. May I come home and try to be a better daughter to you? “ANN VERONICA.
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