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” “Blood of my heart!” whispered Capes, holding her close to him. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. Gravely he placed them in his aunt's hand. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Imperceptibly almost Ann Veronica began to acquire the new attitude, even while her mind still resisted the felted ideas that went with it. If only sometimes he would grow angry at her, impatient! But his tender courtesy was unfailing; and under this would be the abiding bitterness of having mistaken gratitude for love.
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