" "How so?" inquired Winifred. Only her babe died. The lamp was not yet lit, and in the dim light he bent forward as though trying to look into her averted face. Mind, I, Baptist Kettleby, say so. The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style.
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