“Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion.
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