He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. She stepped backwards. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. " "Iss, Massa Austin," replied the black.
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