Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. The next moment his grasp relaxed, and he sank to rise no more. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape.
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