"I have saved the executioner a labour, by cutting his throat," replied Blueskin. The party resolved itself for Ann Veronica into a game in which she manoeuvred unostentatiously and finally unsuccessfully to avoid talking alone with this gentleman. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. ’ ‘Not, I trust, Nicholas Charvill?’ ‘Hardly. He had need of all the inexhaustible energy of his character to support him through his toilsome walk over the wet grass, or along the slippery ploughed land. But to go courting a slave-girl, at the risk of physical hurt! A shudder of distaste wrinkled her shoulders. Then she and her husband went off to a Yorkshire practice, and had four more babies, none of whom photographed well, and so she passed beyond the sphere of Ann Veronica’s sympathies altogether.
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