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‘Jacques?’ she called. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. Long ago. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world. "Thames, this is no forgery. “How will you live?” she appealed. ” Ann Veronica had remained standing while her aunt spoke.
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