‘One of they Frenchies, that’s what I say—if it ain’t a ghost. Do sit down, dear boy. “He fell over at my feet,” she continued. 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. You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is.
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