" "Humph!" exclaimed Jonathan. Presently he heard her voice. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. She was in one of her old walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. He must be tied behind the carriage. She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. " "Do you want me to tell her that I am grateful?" "Well, aren't you?" "I don't know; I really don't know. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. So far the thing was acceptable enough. I consented.
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