“And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts. "So did I," answered Jack; "we had better move on. Another day of nonsuccess would mean many disagreeable things. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. I've sent for the priest. The lad had just barely jangled it, when hurrying footsteps could be heard inside.
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