“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an impatient indication of the direction. Ann Veronica was not ready enough to deal with that counter-stroke. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so. The bridge was protected on either side by a railing with bannisters placed at wide intervals. I might have told you the truth.
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