“Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. A deep dread calm, like that which precedes a thunderstorm, now prevailed amongst the assemblage. “Am I dull?” she said. It was her distinctive test of an emotional state, its interference with a kindly normal digestion. Spurling, drily. “What’s wrong with having witchcraft books? Is she afraid that the Princeton Hill villagers will burn you at stake?” Lucy asked sarcastically.
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