‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. “That’s a weird name. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. ‘I knowed he were a wrong ’un, but that. I believe that I have heard my sister speak of you. The room was papered with green, large-patterned paper that was at worst a trifle dingy, and the arm-chair and the seats of the other chairs were covered with the unusual brightness of a large-patterned chintz, which also supplied the window-curtain.
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