I should say that having a doubt was enough to condemn it. ‘Well, what was I to think, miss? Martha never wrote nothing about you, and I did ask. “Eight, Cavendish Square. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window. She was sitting on the mean straw mattress that was placed on the iron bedstead in the makeshift cell, while Melusine stood with her back to the door, confronting her old nurse with the truth.
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