She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. “You will go and see her,” he begged. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. Ann Veronica was not aware of this literary side of her teacher; she had a little tinge of annoyance at Miss Garvice’s advantage. “I really owe him something of an apology. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No.
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