He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. 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. Wood carved the ducks; Mr. ‘Wait for me. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. I can't bear it. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer.
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