Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. Things you would laugh at. The ragged edge. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. I've tried the plan, and found it answer.
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