“You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. She heard his voice screaming her name into the twilight as she fled, his cries trailing like banners, weaving through the breeze that had begun to gently stir the dew on the ground. . . He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. An old man and a young girl, the one as stubbornly offensive as the other. The booming voice and the energetic movements spoke plainly of hurry.
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