“You’re. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. After all, life had still its pulsations. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. This circumstance produced no further alteration in his demeanour except that he endeavoured to abstract himself from the surrounding scene, and bend his attention to the prayers which the ordinary was reciting. Mr. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel.
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