He uttered a deep groan, but said nothing. Anna sat with the face of a Sphinx— waiting. Presently. "I'll make a sketch, too," he said. There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon.
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