‘Sir?’ enquired the lad. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. “Yes.
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