“I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. That is so awful. You see me here, an admitted failure in the object to which I have devoted two years of my life. While I have been pestering you, have you heard it? At least, you heard the first act. 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. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. Her anger parlayed with her confusion, as she realized that the new marriage was about as optional as the first one and her hunger was growing inside her like a weed. But she made no answer. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind.
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