"We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy. I thought that you were he. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. At least for one moment, it was. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall.
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