Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. ” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” “And then?” “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk. Her mother missed writing for a week, and then she wrote in an unusual key. ‘Ain’t my place, I know that.
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