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“Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. " "It's mine, I'll be sworn," rejoined Wood. " Sir Rowland bit his lips to repress the answer that rose to them. “Veronique!” she cried with a rising intonation, though never before had she called Ann Veronica anything but Miss Stanley, and seized her and squeezed her and kissed her with profound emotion. His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. It’s awkward, but we’ll get round it somehow. ‘Tell me the truth, Melusine.
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