She paused for a moment. 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. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. This was automatically rather than thoughtfully done; habit. Her complexion had resisted the snow-glare wonderfully; her skin had only deepened its natural warmth a little under the Alpine sun. To have sprung this upon them to-night would have been worth a thousand pounds. What do you think people will make of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?” At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward.
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