He—” “Here they are!” said Ann Veronica as the bell sounded. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. For just as though a vague likeness is sometimes borne swiftly in upon one, so a vague dissimilarity between the face on the poster and the heroine of his thoughts had slowly crept into his consciousness. “Listen, Annabel,” he said hoarsely. He heard Rollo's stump beat a gentle tattoo on the floor. Hilary Roding was all soldier now, his earlier grievances laid aside. She rapped again, louder.
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