"Close the wicket, Austin," vociferated Ireton, in an authoritative tone. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. I have suffered—I have sinned—I have repented. “I’m very shy, and I would like to opt out if you don’t mind. “Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity.
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