” “Give me something to do,” said Ann Veronica, interrupting her persuasions at last. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. Aware that he should incur the thief-taker's bitterest animosity by what he had done, the watchman, whose wrath against Quilt Arnold had evaporated during the walk, thought it more prudent not to hazard a meeting with his master, till the storm had, in some measure, blown over. Daughters were not like sons.
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