Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. Indeed, a note of weeping broke her voice for a moment as she burst out, “You know as well as I do that money was a loan!” “Loan!” “You yourself called it a loan!” “Euphuism. She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. "Is it poison?" she asked. “I throw it out in passing,” he said. “I think everything’s right,” said Ann Veronica, with the roaming eye of a capable but not devoted house-mistress. Seems as she don’t trust soldiers easy.
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