” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. ” Anna nodded. With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business.
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