“Yes. “You must arrest me!” she gasped, breathlessly, insisting insanely on a point already carried; “you shall!” The police-station at the end seemed to Ann Veronica like a refuge from unnamable disgraces. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. I’ll be waiting for you outside. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. Mr. Below her stretched a valley of rich meadowland, of yellow cornfields, and beyond moorland hillside glorious with purple heather and golden gorse.
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