“Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. “Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. CHAPTER XXXII. ’ ‘What, a common soldier?’ ‘He was not a common soldier. He glanced up. Such a mystery as you have set up. “I see nothing of my sister,” she said. Here and there, a rectangular patch, darker than the rest, showed that some had been removed.
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