She wedged the towel between her legs. "Oh!" she gasped. “No, I am alone,” she answered. That for you!" And she snapped her fingers in his face. 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.
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