They were ingenious disguises of gilt paper destructively gummed, it would seem, to Ann Veronicas’ best dancing-slippers. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. He turned round to keep Anna out by force if possible, but he was too late. “That is my dream of you,” said Manning, warming. Those were great tricks that you pulled with the car and the glass, but why shouldn’t I believe that this has all been an elaborate hoax?” He asked. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. Still, his conscience was partly satisfied.
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