" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. " "Oh! he told you that, did he?" said Blueskin, marching up to her, and chucking her under the chin. What is it?" "Guess," rejoined Blueskin, attempting to throw a gallant expression into his forbidding countenance. The very old lady in the antimacassar touched Ann Veronica’s arm suddenly, and said, in a deep, arch voice: “Talking of love again; spring again, love again.
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