And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. He then said that if she would not obey him in this course she should “never darken his doors again,” and was, indeed, frightfully abusive. "So get up, and leave off whimpering. ‘Oh, are there? You are not quite alone in these adventures of yours, I take it. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester.
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