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. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. ‘Will that be all, ma’am?’ ‘Yes, yes. ” Anna smiled very faintly. This whole affair is truly my fault. C. ToC "How do you mean to act, Sir?" inquired Trenchard, as soon as they were left alone. David Courtlaw. .
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