For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. You might be able to use the picture some day. “He spends hours of every day on the pavement below,” Anna answered calmly. She seemed to have recovered herself as he returned, but rose as if she would go back to the saloon. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage.
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