There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. It was, Ann Veronica felt, as a sip or so of that remarkable blend warmed her blood, just the sort of thing that her aunt would not approve, to be lunching thus, tete-a-tete with a man; and yet at the same time it was a perfectly innocent as well as agreeable proceeding. Kneebone's door, you begged me to await your return here, assuring me you would not detain me five minutes.
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