Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble. ‘Lawks-a-mussy! It’s Miss Mary. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. Jonathan, however, was well acquainted with the road. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss.
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