” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. Couldn’t face me with what he’d done, the miserable blackguard. You’re mine. “It was your own fault,” she exclaimed.
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