But oh, how weary I am! I know. My heart cannot take it. I tried it myself, Sir. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. The windows were small, and strongly grated, looking, in front, on Kendrick Yard, and, at the back, upon the spacious burial-ground of Saint Giles's Church. From what do you wish to be rescued?’ The girl fluttered her eyelashes, sighed dramatically and spread her hands.
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