” “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our little vicious strains run the same way. She tried to scream, \"I'm coming to you, Mama!\" But no sound would come from her mouth. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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