He began to tell me something—and stopped. It was a serene and charming evening, and twilight was gently stealing over the face of the country. She came into the room. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. Twenty guineas, mind. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters.
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