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The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Supposing that was it; at least, a solution to part of this amazing riddle? Supposing her father had made her assist him in the care of the derelicts solely to fill her with loathing and abhorrence for mankind? "Didn't you despise the men your father brought home—the beachcombers?" "No. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. The back windows of the houses (where any such existed) were strongly barricaded, and kept constantly shut; and the fortress was, furthermore, defended by high walls and deep ditches in those quarters where it appeared most exposed. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 23-09-2024 16:42:34
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