Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. You are going to be generous and forgive. The boy she had loved was gone. Every word you utter puzzles me.
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