“Will you come this way,” she said, “into the drawing-room? There is no one there just now. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. You didn’t even do that Vee; not even that. It’s artificially chance.
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