Where was this kindly world she had drawn so rosily in fancy? Disillusion everywhere. “This isn’t furtive,” said Ann Veronica. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. “You poor little girl!” he cried. “Now you must go,” she said firmly. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived.
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