"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. But you——” Something seemed to catch his breath. “LOOKS all right,” said Ann Veronica, regarding him with her head first on one side and then on the other, and trying to be agreeable. It’s just like your Splendid Pride to do it. “Quite on my own,” she said. " The prison bars of circumstance, they no longer encompassed her. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing. “Your sex is a terrible fraud.
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