They were now in a sort of cellar, at one end of which was a door. She drank it obediently. “Forgive my coming in,” she said to Ennison. But he was at last persuaded that I mean you no harm, and that I might—just possibly, since I am both a gentleman and a major of militia—be able to be of more assistance to you than he himself. “Better,” said Ann Veronica, with an unreal alacrity.
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