It was finished by the end of that year, each character having asserted itself pronouncedly in my imagination. He had done it. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. . Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. " "Indeed!" rejoined Sir Rowland, haughtily; "perhaps, you will refresh my memory as to the time, and place.
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