“Okay, Mom. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. “I knew,” she said, in a low despairing tone, “that people would talk. "Yes, my angel, to her—rest her soul! She extorted it from me, and bound me by a solemn oath to fulfil it. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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