” Ann Veronica said nothing in answer to that. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. One chance in a thousand, and that would be the girl. Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. I feel like a fraudulent trustee. I knew it.
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