His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. White is proud of her drawing-room evenings. "No; we never had one; at least, I never saw it. Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. So presently they got into a hansom together, and Ann Veronica sat back feeling very luxurious and pleasant, and looked at the light and stir and misty glitter of the street traffic from under slightly drooping eyelids, while Ramage sat closer to her than he need have done, and glanced ever and again at her face, and made to speak and said nothing. The women, Ann Veronica thought, were not quite so interesting as the men. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. “Mr.
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