“I shall never marry,” said Ann Veronica, resolutely; “I’m not the sort. Don’t try. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. So proas loaded with nuts were always landing on the beach.
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