Mr. ” “I like the mystical way better,” said Ann Veronica, and thought. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. His voice had broken. All the turnkeys rose to salute the thief-taker, whose habitually-sullen countenance looked gloomier than usual. It was an excuse, dredged up on the spur of the moment to cover a slip. " "By Heaven!" cried Kneebone, with increasing fervour, "it is true—as true as my affection for you. Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage.
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