Ann Veronica tried to seem absolutely unconcerned. Spurlock advanced, the censer swung high. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. A tall elegantly dressed woman, followed by a maid, came down the broad staircase. Under another name,—not my own hateful one,—I will strive to distinguish myself in some foreign service, and win myself a reputation, or perish honourably. Here was a poor half-naked creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand, seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. She remained stonily in the middle of the hallway until the spinsters' door shut them from view … for ever.
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