She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. He watched her, savoring her curious attention. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. It will hold aloof, a little undecided whether to pelt or not—” “That depends whether we carry ourselves as though we expected pelting,” said Ann Veronica. You don’t understand. Then, one night, he glanced up to behold Ruth and Rollo in the doorway. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights.
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