And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path. “Go on!” “People talked to you in Paris about us,” she continued, “about Anna the virtuous and Annabel the rake.
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