She and John were able to see each other many times and spent long romantic winter afternoons together. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. I can’t even carry a tune with a bucket. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. . Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes.
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