Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. The doctor had sown a seed, carelessly. "I couldn't bear to see you in it. He had nothing more to say either to her or to Spurlock. .
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