Produce them!" "Never!" replied Kneebone. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. His inclinations prompted him most decidedly to take the vacant chair. The sun was all but gone now, the horizon a deep shade of purple. He touched a long-standing sore, and Ann Veronica found herself vainly trying to explain—the inexplicable. Annabel seated herself in an easy chair and determined to wait for her sister’s return.
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