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Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. I shall ride to St. I don’t think for a moment that he would recognize you. And I want you for myself—for my wife. And such skirts as Ann Veronica had had when she entered the valley of Saas were safely packed away in the hotel, and she wore a leather belt and loose knickerbockers and puttees—a costume that suited the fine, long lines of her limbs far better than any feminine walking-dress could do. With an open hand, he slapped her face.
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