Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. Come!” They went out together and he called a hansom. Read that letter, Thames—my lord marquis, I mean. If a cart were coming, or those labourers in the field had heard, escape was impossible. . They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. CHAPTER XXVII.
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