He was a young man of about two-and-twenty, who, without having anything remarkable either in dress or appearance, was yet a noticeable person, if only for the indescribable expression of cunning pervading his countenance. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. "I'm going back for Ruth. ” “Annabel, are you mad? To England! You are joking, of course. ” Like most men who lie but seldom, he lied well. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul.
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