Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. She obeyed, extending her arm. “It is positively no use, Anna,” she declared, appealingly. What sort of proof? There are no papers at Remenham House. He had set out to win her, and she had let him start. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. She came into the room.
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