Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. She went about the familiar home with a clearer and clearer sense of inevitable conclusions. Was the situation so desperate that he could not pack his best things? She had packed lightly, not wanting to weigh down the carriage they would travel in. ” “A little pit!” said Ann Veronica; “a little prison!” “It’s just as often a little refuge. ‘But on the off chance—slim, I grant you —that there is a spy down there, I don’t want to miss the fun. I will do all this not because I love you, but—because you are Anna’s sister. She did not forge a note. Maggot, who promptly interposed her cudgel.
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