I didn’t get it, why she put on the innocent act. Ann Veronica stared at his foolish, propitiatory smile, his hungry gaze, through one moment of amazement, then stepped aside and went on her way with a quickened step. Her aunt leaped unhappily to the thought of penitence. ‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. The oranges were of the Syrian variety, small but filled with scarlet honey.
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