He went by another name then,—Rykhart Scherprechter I think he called himself. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. 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.
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