“Julian, I don’t want to get married!” She blinked in 119 disbelief as she saw how hurt he was by her reply. Her hair was of the darkest brown, and finest texture; and, when unloosed, hung down to her heels. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. “But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel.
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