McClintock, without comment, accepted the hand. She did not try to approach him. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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