Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head.
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