Why ever did you let me get into that wagonette?” “I thought we had to,” said Ann Veronica, who had also been a little under the compulsion of the marshals of the occasion. He was a bad dog; he knew it perfectly; but where there was laughter, there was hope. The dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. It was just upon the stroke of nine as he entered the Lodge, and Mr. Building announced solemnly. Wood, whose admiration for masculine beauty was by no means abated, glanced at the well-proportioned figure of the young man, and made him a very civil salutation.
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