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. They were alike in one phase—loveless and lonely. She pawed at him, her hunger for his body making her dizzy with anticipation. "You are free," said he, "that grating forms a ladder, by which you may descend in safety. Sometimes these dreams are simple and tender; sometimes they are magnificent. ” Anna’s eyes opened a little wider, but she said nothing.
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