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’ Triumph soared in Gerald’s chest. He had, for the most part, been correct. CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. SHOOH!” “That’s no reason,” said Ann Veronica, speaking through her handkerchief and stopping abruptly. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. He forgot for the moment his own self-pity, the egotism of his own passionate love. It was years before your time. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. The guineas are not for serving your mistress. Still, I am curious. ” She paused for a moment.
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