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‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. The telegram reminded Ann Veronica that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor parlor, which very fortunately was vacant. Only she hadn’t. But there is something in your voice that makes me distrust you. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. Things seem to come rather easily. —Providence, I mean—HAS arranged it so that men will keep you, more or less. If I’d meant it, my girl, you’d be dead meat.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-06-2024 00:04:57
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