As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. ” And thus it was that as Ann Veronica neared the gates of home, she said to herself: “I’ll have it out with him somehow. The parlour was cluttered but cosy.
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