1. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. As matters now stand, I'm only a thief, not a blackguard. ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers.
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