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. What more is there to be said? She defies me!” It was extraordinary. And now— I suppose I should be considered too old. The young lady—if she had come in here at all—had vanished.
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