Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew. He glanced at Miss Klegg again, and spoke quickly and furtively, with eager eyes on Ann Veronica’s face. But I don't look for peace on this side the grave. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield.
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