Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. But, I'll expose him. You must come back. The venturous climber gazed for a moment at the assemblage beneath, to ascertain that he was not discovered; and, having satisfied himself in this particular, he stepped out more boldly. . He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. Lord Charvill champed upon an invisible bit for a moment or two, closing the gap between himself and the girl, and muttering the name to himself in an overwrought sort of way. Arrived within a short distance of his destination, he came to a halt, and pointing out a dark court nearly opposite the woollen-draper's abode, told the chairmen to wait there till they were summoned. . But the mere recognition of his son’s signature was enough to stoke the fires of his long-held rage.
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