At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old man, her hand held out. “One runs about,” said Ann Veronica. We’ll go. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. But she did not bother her head very much about her relations with these sympathizers. ‘You obstinate little devil. You must—you shall be mine.
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