“Tell me his name,” he said, “and I promise that he shall never trouble you. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. Don’t try. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. He moved to one side, bowing and gesturing to the door. “Well, hello there.
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