"But what does he mean by calling you a wanton? —you, my wife?" Enschede's hand slipped from his daughter's shoulder. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. ‘—and what do I do? Well, we know what I do. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us. I always wondered why he bought my mother's pearls so readily. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. You are NOT going to that ball!” Ann Veronica tried a less genial, more dignified note. . The poor things! Oh, it was quite dreadful.
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