Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Nevertheless though nearly six feet high, and correspondingly proportioned, she was a model of symmetry, and boasted, with the frame of a Thalestris or a Trulla, the regular lineaments of the Medicean Venus. Your aunt liked the pheasant. “You did not tell me that you were going out, or I would have offered my escort. "Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. “But you’re wrong. “Parmesan—take it away!” He glanced at Ann Veronica’s face, and it seemed to him that she really was exceptionally radiant.
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