A girl—at my age—is grown-up. “You wish me to stay?” he asked, in a low tone. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. The meat was coarse and disagreeably served.
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