The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. “To your room!” Michelle cowered, her face flushed with anger. “You are mine, Annabel, and nothing shall ever make me give you up. 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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