“Do not be frightened, dear,” she said. If I had never met anything of you at all but a scrap of your skin binding a book, Ann Veronica, I know I would have kept that somewhere near to me. "Now stand before me, Poll. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris.
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