Old Bedlam. She had worn a long skirt that morning, and a roomier sweater that was slightly easier to handle than Shari’s low cut numbers. The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. “But my dear Ann Veronica, you will be getting into debt!” Ann Veronica at once, and with a feeling of immense relief, took refuge in her dignity.
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