“I love some one else. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. And not on Melusine’s account, but to see Prudence, who had no use for a cavalier. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly.
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