What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. " "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. “I wouldn’t. “Hey sis!” He cried drunkenly. “Well, lodgings and things! And I paid my fees at the College. There is a place—This isn’t the place. Norris. But the besetting evil of the place, and that which drew down the severest censures of the writers above-mentioned, was that this spot,—which of all others should have been most free from such intrusion—was made a public exhibition. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified.
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