At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. Refused admittance, they broke open the door. And all the old—the old trick of shrinking up like a snail at a touch. "Where shall I fly?" exclaimed the lady, bewildered with terror. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again.
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