Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. ‘She?’ ‘Damnation!’ He saw her frown, and added at once, ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. I’ve never found them hostile. Stanley and his sister into a taxicab, and had waved an amiable farewell from the pavement steps.
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