CHAPTER XXIV. “The young women of Jane Austen’s time didn’t get into this sort of scrape! At least—one thinks so. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. Bring in his comrade," he added, in a whisper to Charcam; "I'll take care of him. They used the rope—not that a rope was at all necessary, but because Ann Veronica’s exalted state of mind made the fact of the rope agreeably symbolical; and, anyhow, it did insure a joint death in the event of some remotely possibly mischance. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. But for Ruth, he, Howard Spurlock, might have ended upon the beach, inescapably damned. "But, though the storm has spared him, I will not. There isn’t.
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