’ The woman shrugged helpless shoulders, looking to her husband. There was a new softness in her eyes, a hesitation, a timidity about her manner which was almost pathetic. He went over her features one by one in his mind. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. “Dear John,” she whispered. CHAPTER XVII.
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