“My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. He was staring at her, openly gaping. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son. ” Ann Veronica thought. There was a wall; she was always encountering it; the one time she was able to break through this wall was when the part in his hair was crooked. She might even forgive him. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. At this moment, the landlord of the Crown, a jovial-looking stout personage, with a white apron round his waist, issued from the house, bearing a large wooden bowl filled with ale, which he offered to Jack, who instantly rose to receive it.
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