“I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. She could not stir hand or foot. Mr.
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