Ann Veronica blushed. ’ A radiant smile dawned. In fact he was thinking of other things. "If you get out o' that cage, I'll forgive you. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. "But it won't do. To be frank with you, I have an affront to requite, which can be settled at the same time, and in the same way with your affair. Ann Veronica was much impressed by a mighty trying on and altering and fussing about Alice’s “things”—Alice was being re-costumed from garret to cellar, with a walking-dress and walking-boots to measure, and a bride’s costume of the most ravishing description, and stockings and such like beyond the dreams of avarice—and a constant and increasing dripping into the house of irrelevant remarkable objects, such as— Real lace bedspread; Gilt travelling clock; Ornamental pewter plaque; Salad bowl (silver mounted) and servers; Madgett’s “English Poets” (twelve volumes), bound purple morocco; Etc. But I'll tell you about him some other time.
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