The first time, I overlooked the offence; but the second time, when I had planned to break open the house of his master, the fellow who visited you to-night,—Wood, the carpenter of Wych Street,—he betrayed me. Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. “Veronica!” cried Miss Stanley, warningly, and, “Peter!” For a moment they seemed on the verge of an altogether desperate scuffle. After much clapping, they started. I hope that some day he'll understand how much he owes you. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense.
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