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That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. . “Tell me,” he said; “speak to me. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. ‘Are you going to tell me?’ ‘But looking for proof,’ Melusine uttered impatiently. ” “Agreed,” said Ann Veronica.
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