The books slid from her arms and fluttered to the floor. In the hall below she could hear his firm voice giving quick commands to the servants. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. It was the beginning of June. ‘Seems quiet enough,’ observed the junior officer, his gaze raking the shuttered windows of the building’s grey stone frontage. The man asked twelve guineas, but after a little bargaining, he came down to ten.
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