ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. He and his friends (he had at least two per class, even in Trigonometry) would make their exits as quickly as possible. The moral right of the author has been asserted. “The Widgetts,” she said. . ‘The nuns, they teach prayer and obedience. Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. —Strype's Stow.
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