Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. His gaze drawn, Gerald watched him dip to pick up a crushed square of white linen and a starched object that resembled a helmet. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. I was in hopes you'd be content with my hat and wig. But no more of that. The door to the room in question was closed. He destroyed her clumsily made dolls whenever he found them. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things.
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