All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. "Sir Cecil is no more. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. “Isn’t the question more complicated than that?” said Ann Veronica. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman.
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