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. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching. " "The very idea is dreadful," whimpered Edgeworth Bess.
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