But—” The tired woman raised her eyebrows in mild protest. Two shots were fired at him by Jonathan; one of which passed through his hat, and the other through the fleshy part of his arm; but he made good his retreat. A vague desire to justify himself ruffled her father. ‘Good God! Everett Charvill, as I live. He came along, he said, just to call, with large, loud apologies, radiantly kind and good. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London.
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