Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. The bridge was open. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. I am betrothed to Captain Roding, which is why you can’t have him, you see. She resumed her on guard position, and glaring steadily at him, waited again.
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