Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “I really do not believe,” he announced with satisfaction, “that any one would recognize me. He made his speech a little elaborately. From long experience with both races he had acquired definitions, but none snugly applied to this girl. “Diedermayer’s a kiss-ass. “I’ve got bad faults.
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