Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. ‘Dunderhead. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. “I did it for love of you,” he said. “Wonderful man!” said Ann Veronica, reassured, and stroking his cheek with her finger.
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