” “I borrowed it,” said Ann Veronica in a casual tone, with white despair in her heart. "Women must have their wills while they live, since they can make none when they die," observed Wood, as he imprinted a kiss of reconciliation on the plump hand of his consort;—a sentiment to the correctness of which the party chiefly interested graciously vouchsafed her assent. "I'll soon settle this business. “You don’t propose, do you,” she said quietly, “that I should take this man for my husband?” “You can drive him away,” Annabel cried. “If ever you do and I can help you in any way, by advice or inquiry or recommendation—You see, I’m no believer in feminine incapacity, but I do perceive there is such a thing as feminine inexperience. How did you like Tristan?” Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. ‘Or flew in by balloon, perhaps. I'm his lieutenant,—Lieutenant Blueskin.
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