Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything. Figg?" asked Gay. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. . After all, what did it matter?—it or anything else in the world? She was within reach of his arms, beautiful, compelling, herself as it seemed suddenly conscious of the light which was burning in his eyes.
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