She wanted to be alone. She decided that she would try to push whatever resolve he had in the car to see where it would lead. “Excuse me a moment. He stooped to recover it, and his face was hidden. ‘Say then, Jacques, you have followed him?’ she demanded of the blackgarbed footman. Of the vast mass of these impressions Ann Veronica could make nothing at the time; there they were—Fact! She stored them away in a mind naturally retentive, as a squirrel stores away nuts, for further digestion. The young fellow was almost as odd in his way as the girl was in hers. A little Madeira seemed to recover her enough to resume the discussion. Mercifully, John had been sick for two of the three days of Thanksgiving week, giving her reprieve from both his presence and the machinations of Katy Pfister, who was always less active on days when he was not around. “You are in trouble,” he said. I'll try to think better of him in future.
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