” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. He went on. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. ‘Certainly you may have me under guard.
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