“You are my friend,” she said, “if any one is. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. He made some obvious comments on the wide view warming toward its autumnal blaze that spread itself in hill and valley, wood and village, below. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. It drives one mad at times. ’ ‘Couldn’t help but do so, ma’am,’ said Mrs Ibstock. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. “I don’t care,” said Ann Veronica.
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