"My father!" she whispered. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. I felt—I felt living in a masked world. In this state of knowledge you will be horribly, irrevocably, alone. 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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