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The young lady with whom I was dining last night was Miss Anna Pellissier. The particulars of her engagement were very clear in her memory. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. It was her figure, her style of dress, her manner of arranging the hair.
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