“Now listen. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. ’ The lashes fluttered demurely. This is my friend, Mr. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. ‘Assuming she can prove her identity, does Remenham House belong to her?’ Mrs Sindlesham shifted her shoulders. But the offences I have committed are venial in comparison with what I should commit were I to wed your father.
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