“I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. I’m going up to London with the Widgetts to that ball. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. I found him once in my rooms, and I believe that he had a key to my front door. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. That is where I first knew him. “I may seem unduly— anxious. Don't you see Mr.
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