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The woman shrugged her shoulders. Sheppard's ward, Sir. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. The women’s meeting was much more charged with emotional force than the Socialists’. In fact, it would not surprise me to discover that they were both Leonardo’s. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. " "Impossible!" cried Jonathan.
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