She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. Her faculties seemed for a moment numbed. “You will go and see her,” he begged. At the sound of the door Ann Veronica uncovered a tearless face, and with one swift movement assumed a conversational attitude. It was Blueskin. Winds returned, the gardens withered, and roses would not bloom. “Please let me drive you home.
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