Her long incarceration at the convent in Blaye had taught her to be dismissive of her own appearance. Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. “Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill.
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