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But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. “I don’t care what any one thinks,” said Ann Veronica. Winifred's features would have been pretty, for they were regular and delicately formed, if they had not been slightly marked by the small-pox;—a disorder, that sometimes spares more than it destroys, and imparts an expression to be sought for in vain in the smoothest complexion. She was powerless to move from her chair. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly.
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