Lucy stepped inside. Beneath the serene unconcern of Ann Veronica’s face was a boiling tumult. The nose was long and sharp, the chin pointed, the forehead broad and flat, and connected, without any intervening hollow, with the eyelid; the teeth when displayed, seemed to reach from ear to ear. A certain irritation crept into his manner as he did so. ‘Typical. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections.
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