He uttered a short laugh. " "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. She watched them sleep for what seemed hours from the high window until her body grew colder than the stone sill she perched upon. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. Cheveney was another Paris friend, was he?” she asked. It'll be your turn to save mine next.
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