” For some creditable moments in her life Ann Veronica was utterly disgusted with herself; she was wrung with a passionate and belated desire to move gently, to speak softly and ambiguously—to be, in effect, prim. His progress, however, was checked by loud acclamations, announcing the arrival of the Master of the Mint and his train. "Miss Enschede, you're seven kinds of a brick!" "A brick?" He chuckled.
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