“Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. Suppose her father turned her out of doors! She did not care, she meant to go. She was wan and white. Then she stood up and looked around the room. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. He had something across his knees.
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