The old lady’s face was stiff with anger. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. “Let us put the lamp out,” she said; “the flames are ever so much better for talking,” and Ann Veronica agreed. And then as we went down you’d try to explain. The general did what he might to hush it up, and paid handsomely to manage it, I daresay. Before an hour had elapsed, the concourse was fearfully increased.
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