“But why is it preposterous?” asked Ann Veronica, and fiddled with a pipe on the mantel. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. It was just a chance that we in particular hit against each other—nothing predestined about it. Either ignorant of the accident, or heedless of it, the foremost horseman pursued his way without even turning his head. . It was bad luck to go to Canongate.
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