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. “If you come a step nearer to me,” she said, “I will smash every glass on this table. He had already spoken his mind on the folly of allowing a clearly dangerous female to escape a second time. 1.
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