It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. “We are both of us trenching upon forbidden ground,” she said. But don't thank me; thank Miss Enschede. 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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