"His wife is still living," returned Kneebone, drily. “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. But I expect him back every minute. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. She packed her things, then ran a mile to Julian’s apartment.
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