But days had now passed. Larry would be up soon. ‘Espéce de diable,’ she screamed. I ask you, although it is not my place to ask you, to return home. 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.
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