“I must go. “Come, daddy,” said Ann Veronica, following her husband and Miss Stanley; and in the fulness of her heart she gave a friendly squeeze to the parental arm. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. “I’ll go,” she vowed to the night, “or I’ll die!” She made plans and estimated means and resources. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua.
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