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. CHAPTER XXIV
Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. The rear of the party was brought up by a large, powerfully-built man, with a
bluff, honest, but rugged countenance, slashed with many a cut and scar, and
stamped with that surly, sturdy, bull-dog-like look, which an Englishman always
delights to contemplate, because he conceives it to be characteristic of his
countrymen. “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. It
was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed
warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders,
and waited with an appearance of affection.
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