“You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. This is your moment. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. It had been discussed in silence. ‘I am entirely English. She was going through with that, anyhow. “Why could you not confide in us?” “Do what?” said Ann Veronica. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion.
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