The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. “I have to go out. ” That simple statement of the case was by no means all that went on in Ann Veronica’s mind. CHAPTER XXIII. The Mohocks. Her personal maidservant, the first she had ever had in her life, was joyful for her. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. It was decrepit and too large. . “I’ll come to the station,” said Ann Veronica. Lucy followed. On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. How Jack Sheppard attended his Mother's Funeral 435 XXVII.
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