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. Give me my pistol and my dagger. ‘But do you not see that he will come again? I think it is better if you, both of you, go and leave me here to find—’ She broke off, looking away.
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