They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. "What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspiciously. I can’t even make myself care. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. Supper was spaghetti and Italian sausage that night.
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