Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. The inn was a military haunt. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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