"You poor child!" said Prudence. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. “Perhaps you will help me shuffle?” Ann Veronica did, and also assisted nimbly with the arrangements of the rows of eight with which the struggle began. Then he took me out to Monteaux, on a motor.
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