I’ve got imagination. The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. My nerves are shaken. What isn’t a day-dream is this: that you and I are going to put an end to flummery—and go!” “Go!” said Ann Veronica, clenching her hands. The clock struck half-past ten. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. "Don't alarm yourself.
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