The face that looked down upon Ann Veronica was full of amiable intention. I was compelled to run away. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. "It's wretched enough, indeed, Sir," rejoined the widow; "but, poor as it is, it's better than the cold stones and open streets. Who is it?” The man came a little further into the room. There's our young friend upstairs.
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