Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. " "Quite natural! Never forgive an injury!—I never do!—ha! ha!" "Really, Mr.
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