"On my soul, yes," rejoined Jonathan. These sweeping dignities were not within the compass of her will; she remembered she liked Ramage, and owed things to him, and she was interested—she was profoundly interested. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. "Try fifty pounds more," said Jonathan. That's well. Anna was married. It looked very patient, she thought, and a little self-satisfied. Her acrid rose perfume oil that hung in the air that smelled like a head shop, her V.
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