Why not? Quite willing. "I loved you," replied Jack,—"don't start—it is over now—I loved you, I say, as a boy. Fast. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. The telegram reminded Ann Veronica that she had no place for interviews except her bed-sitting-room, and she sought her landlady and negotiated hastily for the use of the ground floor parlor, which very fortunately was vacant. She fell into a pleasant dream of positions and work.
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