Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. As usual the substantive sister—Prudence—did all the talking for the pair; Angelina, the shadow, offered only her submitting nods. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. “But Sebastian! I need them!” He smiled, not a smile of comfort, but a smile of terrible menace.
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