Her aunt was a long time before she answered. “You’re—I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica. A wedding procession turned the corner. ’ She set down her glass with a snap. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. ‘Well then, Melusine,’ he said calmly, ‘it seems as if we must get you your dowry willy-nilly. I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child.
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