‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. "When it thunders, the thief becomes honest," muttered Wood. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. Men had tried that before, but never until now had they been quick enough. To settle things, you know. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets.
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