He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. And it’s like the petals falling from a flower. 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. ” She nodded. Perhaps because I don’t know. The glance, which he threw at the door, was singularly expressive of his character: it was a mixture of alarm, effrontery, and resolution.
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