She would just have to show up and hope for the best. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. “I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. Mother? Suzanne Valade, her mother? With deliberation, he spoke.
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