’ The lad Kimble moved swiftly to the door and walked out of the room. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. 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. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered.
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