It ought not to be much. To appreciate it you should try rooms. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. Courtlaw, who was sitting by the bedside, bent over him.
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