“Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica to the darkness; “I’ll fight it. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. So, after the dinner was over, Spurlock took her home; and worked far into the night.
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