“Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa. Yes, I can readily believe it. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. “I’m not coarse—no! But I’ve got no purity of mind—no real purity of mind. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. At least, I frustrated her design in calling upon him this morning. Wood.
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