“My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. ‘Do you think it is the man in the moon that I mean? What is it that Gérard has told you?’ ‘That you need help. The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. Why, there's another party on the stair-head inquiring arter scullers; and, by the mass! they appear in a greater hurry than any on us. .
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