Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. A thin mist lay on the river, giving the few craft moving about in it a ghostly look. It’s a sort of guarantee of confidence. Why ever did you let me get into that wagonette?” “I thought we had to,” said Ann Veronica, who had also been a little under the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion.
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