But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. ‘Idiot!’ ‘Enough, now! Softly, you little termagant,’ he ordered, seizing her wrists to hold her off. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. “I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort.
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