It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife.
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