Ann Veronica loved beautiful things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of women’s bodies. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. “I am sorry. I've already told you I'm about to take a long journey, and it's more than probable I shall never return. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. Never for a moment had violence come between these two since long ago he had, in spite of her mother’s protest in the background, carried her kicking and squalling to the nursery for some forgotten crime. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features.
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