Part 7 “And what are you doing here, young lady,” he said, looking up at her face, “wandering alone so far from home?” “I like long walks,” said Ann Veronica, looking down on him. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. But if I painted her as I'd like to, the natives would instantly distrust me; and I'd have to build up confidence all over again. The aunt laughed. “You ought at once—you ought at once to have told her that. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. Not with the unavoidable explanations, and the need to secrete the sword and hide it before returning the priest’s horse to its stable—which had been her excuse for running from Martha’s protestations. We have to get them to let us in for the profits of their business, and in return we ask them to—dinner. For she knew that men married to get something. “So very clear and cold,” she said.
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