The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. E. Suppose our proper place is a shrine. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments. "Mercy on us! Well, I thought their manners quite out o' the common. 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. On this second excursion, forewarned, she would use no light and keep as quiet as a mouse, she vowed, and thus refrain from attracting the attention of the militia at the gates. He paused at the bamboo curtain of her room, which was in semi-darkness.
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