"Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. . She really must not go to that affair. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. “We have a private room at St.
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