“Let me think,” said Ann Veronica. Drenched to the skin,—in fact, he had been lying in a bed of muddy water,—and chilled to the very bone, he felt so stiff, that he could scarcely move. He had been the one to dress her in the finest silks and brocades, and here she was, displayed for the world to see in 248 drugstore makeup and the uniform of an old schoolteacher. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. To this day he and every one else thinks that he married Anna.
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