It would have been a crisis anyhow, but it was complicated in Ann Veronica’s mind by the fact that a letter lay on the breakfast-table from Mr. Wood the best of wives. Give him this letter, child, and bid him take it to the Lodge at Newgate without loss of time. She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion.
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