Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. “At a boarding-house?” he gasped. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The less she lived, in fact, the better. There had been disappointments and humiliations, and although she hated to admit it even to herself, she was in desperate straits. G'night, kids. Advancing towards Wood, Jonathan fixed his keen gray eyes upon him, and demanded, in a stern tone whether the persons who had taken refuge in the adjoining house, were bailiffs.
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