“I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. I don’t care WHAT happens. It was a mass of knick-knacks. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. She had asked about that already, and her father had replied, evasively: “We’ll have to see about that, little Vee; we’ll have to see about that. She slipped it calmly into her pocket.
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