The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. “I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. Having secured this,—for he was almost famished,—he said that he had lost a hammer and wished to purchase one. I’m afraid I’m a terribly clumsy fellow. What can a girl do? Somewhere at this point Ann Veronica’s speculations were interrupted and turned aside by the approach of a horse and rider.
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