The bed-and table-linen were of the finest texture. Mentally but not physically competent. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. But in this posture he fared worse than ever.
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