Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. The crowner's 'quest sat on her yesterday—and if she hadn't been proved out of her mind, she would have been buried at four lane-ends. " "To-morrow will be too late," replied the widow, in a hollow voice, "I feel it will. Trenchard was tempted to examine the contents of some of these cases, but a closer inspection made him recoil from them in disgust. See? Nothing really. Already Cosette was her chosen friend. If Jack should die, all though her fault, she could never forgive herself.
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