" "Come along!" cried Jack, darting through the door. “Anyway, enough about that. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Then, if you weren’t looking, he’d get five feet closer. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him. Supposing she saw the young man at dinner that night, emptying his bottle? She could not go to him, sit down and draw the sordid pictures she had seen so often. The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. When Mrs.
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