The distinction lay chiefly in the right to pat their heads. He reached over and took her hand. 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. Ann Veronica sat down in the other arm-chair and darned badly for a minute or so. “This is the slavery of the veiled life. It is no more a murder, but a duel, you understand. “I’m fine,” she said softly.
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