Then she went back and mixed up the sheets in a search for particular passages. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. It was locked. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. He pulled down a chair to her left.
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