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She walked for a mile or more recklessly, close veiled, with swift level footsteps, though her brain was in a whirl and a horrible faintness all the time hovered about her. " "You read those yarns?" Spurlock's head came about, and there was eagerness in his eyes. The flight. Ann Veronica was carried off her intellectual and critical feet by it altogether, and applauded and uttered cries that subsequent reflection failed to endorse. She glanced towards her sister, and curiously enough found in her face some faint reflection of her own rather sombre mirth. They should never come into contact with politics or economics—or any of those things. It was horrible.
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