And he had destroyed all this. Lucy did not want to have to kill the mother, as she hated more than anything to kill women, no matter what their sins. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. She cried as he watched, frozen to the ground. A small voice greeted her, hissing. In stature, he was short and stumpy; in person, corpulent; and in countenance, sleek, snub-nosed, and demure. Manning. Sheppard, smiling through her tears. This intercourse, which had been planned to warm Ann Veronica to a familiar affection with Ramage, was certainly warming Ramage to a constantly deepening interest in Ann Veronica. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. Now, abruptly, they were real again, though very distant, and she had come to say farewell to them across one sundering year. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door.
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