“It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. Suddenly she had become afraid. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. She was nestled under his bedspread. “We are so interested to hear, Miss Pellissier,” she said, “that you have been living in Paris.
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