They had asked her to come to the first of the two great annual Fadden Dances, the October one, and Ann Veronica had accepted with enthusiasm. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. . “But, dear, think! He is your father. CHAPTER XI. ” The girl sat up and looked at him with a curious twist at the corners of her mouth —humorous or pathetic, he could not tell which. That’s the wonder of it. I’ve had it, Sheila.
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