But I'm not worrying about that. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, staring before her at the window-sash, “that’s the form my question takes at the present time. Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears.
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