“I suppose he’s frightfully clever,” said Miss Klegg. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance.
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