“I know. ’ ‘What is all this about your proof?’ demanded Roding, diverted. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “Anna!” she repeated. Ann Veronica sat back in an attitude of inattention, her eyes on a distant game of cricket, her mind perplexed and busy.
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