Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. ‘The credentials, milor’,’ he ventured.
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