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Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. Pennsylvania Dutch. Pistols and pictures? Now it fair goes agin’ me nature to act rough with a lady, but you’ll come along of me at once. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. There were cakes and sandwiches—for Ennison a sort of Elysian feast, long to be remembered. She read voraciously, and presently, because of her aunt’s censorship, she took to smuggling any books she thought might be prohibited instead of bringing them home openly, and she went to the theatre whenever she could produce an acceptable friend to accompany her. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. ’ Martha looked up, belligerence in her tone. My, um, my curfew. Snatching-up his pistols, he rushed to the door, but to his horror found it fastened. I did think it could be done.
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