You might get faint, but you can fight it. Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so. She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. If so I shall have to leave. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia.
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