Ann Veronica was apologetic to the bottom of her soul. He had just arrived from Manchester, whence he had been summoned by that treacherous thief-taker. She infused menace into her voice. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. “That beast of a fellow is certain to be hanging about. A neat tale, giving little away. “It was inevitable,” he declared. She thought gleefully of the dress she would get to wear for the Ball (Prom?) and could not wait to tell her foster family about how excited she was.
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