” “Your priestess,” whispered Ann Veronica, softly. But her husband, whose deportment to her was considerably changed since the fatal knot had been tied, paid no attention whatever to her grief. He was more like a man who had left his bed in the middle of convalescence. So he made merry at the dinner table, told comic stories, and was astonished at the readiness with which she grasped the comic side of life. A woman may choose any one for her lover, but for her friend she makes no mistake. It would be a great matter, I must own, to bring Jonathan Wild to justice.
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