Ann Veronica halted a pace, and Miss Klegg came alongside. “You poor little girl!” he cried. She gloried in it: he needed her. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. " "Bah!" ejaculated Marvel, gruffly. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words.
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