Her aunt went out of the room with dignity and a rustle, and up-stairs to the fastness of her own room. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her. "Vell," he growled, addressing Quilt, "you know who's here, I suppose?" "To be sure I do," replied Quilt; "my noble friend, the Marquis of Slaughterford. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration.
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