Part 7 Then one day a little thing happened that clothed itself in significance. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. When they reached the door, he kissed her 246 again. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. It reached her only slowly that Ann Veronica was standing to her resolution. He put an arm around her. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Every other wall comprised bookcases, except where the doors appeared. ‘Something in that, missie.
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