"I could hang him now if I liked. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. \" Lucy winced. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. "My horses, Charcam," he said, as a servant appeared. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley.
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