I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. Mr. He was unusually absurd and ready, and all the time it seemed to Ann Veronica as a delightful possibility, as a thing not indeed to be entertained seriously, but to be half furtively felt, that he was being so agreeable because she had come back again. She hugged Lucy, who had finished eating. By and by—as the paroxysm subsided and he became motionless—she stole back to the bungalow to wait. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. She wasn’t sure of herself when she said it.
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