She sat drawn together in her chair in the corner of the box, at a loss what to say or do—afraid, curious, perplexed. Better even than these. You say that this gentleman was with you?” “I was,” Brendon answered, “most providentially. ‘You mean I should give myself a dressingdown? Very well. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. I want to be your knight, your servant, your protector, your—I dare scarcely write the word—your husband.
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