One gets drawn into things. Before the Monroes I was placed with a single woman, Leslie Cavendish. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. “I’ve been through all that,” she went on, after a pause. “To be frank with you, Lady Lescelles, when your brother asked me the other day to be his wife I was under a false impression as regards his relations—with some other person. The pistol was lowered slightly. You have somewhere to go to in London, I hope. “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand.
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