It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. Part of her felt like laughing insanely at how badly she had been duped. "Do you know anything further of Sir Rowland?" he asked. A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her.
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