He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. “You are a funny, a very funny young lady,” he said, “but we waste time here. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate.
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