"To paint your portrait," answered the jailer. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. “You are the type that I want to marry someday, you’ve got a beautiful body, such pretty eyes. ‘That’s my pet name. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. At this juncture, Sir Cecil and his followers appeared at the threshold. ‘Anyhow, never mind that now.
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