Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them. Love stories!… A sob rushed into her throat, and to smother it she buried her face in a pillow. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship. So far she had the utmost difficulty in getting on to that vitally important matter. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. Life seemed a very brave and glorious enterprise to Ann Veronica that day.
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