CHAPTER XXIX. She released her clutch on it as, dizzy with exhaustion, she leaned against the back of the pew and closed her eyes, her fingers grasping out automatically for support. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. Kneebone, a woollen-draper in Wych Street, with whose pockets, it appears, Jack, when a lad, made a little too free.
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