Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. Arrived in the plantation she sat down with her back against a tree trunk. Now I shall never hear it but what this evening will come pouring back over me. And a time will come, Veronica, mark my words, a time will come when you will bless me for my firmness to-night. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name.
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