For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds. Ramage,” she said, “I can’t—Not now. But I've stacks of books and a grand piano-player. There would be no mercy in this man. Here we are absconding, pretending to be what we are not; shady, to say the least of it. She passed people in the streets and regarded them with a quickening apprehension, once or twice came girls dressed in slatternly finery, going toward Regent Street from out these places.
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