Chapter IX BRENDON’S LUCK Anna sat in a chair in her room and sighed. "Damnation!" exclaimed one of the leaders of the party in a furious tone, snatching a torch from an attendant, and throwing its light full upon the face of the carpenter; "this is not the villain, Sir Cecil. Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. “Either I want to shout,” said Mr. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily.
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