His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. She posed herself before her mirror and surveyed herself with gravely thoughtful, gravely critical, and yet admiring eyes. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. " "At your peril, sirrah!" cried Wood. The boy’s besotted. ‘Yes, only that this consolation he had found before he married my mother.
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