And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. It cost her seventy-seven dollars. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. “Hola Marteen!” She exclaimed cheerfully. ‘We was of an age, you see, miss. Michelle smiled.
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