” “Much better,” she agreed. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. ‘What did you do with the portrait then? Not that I suppose it is much use any longer. “Don’t they look like a pair of young lovers sleeping off a tryst?” He observed. They do not come for me, to find me and bring me home.
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