Part 2 Ann Veronica Stanley was twenty-one and a half years old. Spurlock, filled with self-mockery, sat in a chair on the west veranda. “Just remember, I have to make this up to you. Why do women take to lies and deceit and trickery as naturally as a duck to water?” “You are not alluding, I hope, to Miss Pellissier?” Ennison said stiffly.
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