He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. Not fit to be dust on your boots. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. She had seen a man’s head steal out for a moment and draw the curtains a little closer. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. "Do not go near him, mother," cried Jack; "do not believe him.
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