“I don’t believe there is one. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. I know something about men. . . “Now, Veronica,” he pleaded, “Veronica, this is most unreasonable. The intruder was handsomely, even richly, attired in a scarlet riding-suit, embroidered with gold; a broad belt, to which a hanger was attached, crossed his shoulders; his boots rose above his knee, and he carried a laced hat in his hand. Ah, if I had written that!" "Don't you want to live?" "I don't know; I really don't know. You heard her. “And as for praying for faith—this sort of monologue is about as near as any one of my sort ever gets to prayer. Jack was not half your age when he died. I shall find him yet. You must say farewell to her, for I cannot. But Ann Veronica had still to get to her chief topic.
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