There was something markedly and deliberately liberal-minded in his manner in all their encounters. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. Having no means of defence, Sir Rowland cleared the blood from his vision; and, turning to see whether there was any means of escape, he descried the open door behind him leading to the Well Hole, and instantly darted through it. “Odd little room,” said Ann Veronica, dimly apprehending that obtrusive sofa.
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