’ Exasperated, Gerald glared at her. 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. Stanley poured wine. . ” Ann Veronica did. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo.
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