The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Then I tucked it nice and snug under the saddle-bag. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burning documents.
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