” “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our little vicious strains run the same way. The thought of you, wandering from pillar to post, believing yourself hunted—it tore my old heart to pieces! For I knew you. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her.
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