. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb. In the beginning it was a dictionary. “What a gloomy person you are!” she murmured. 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. ’ Gerald frowned in an effort of memory, and then laughed as he recalled one of the lies she had invented for his benefit. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. But there was, it insisted, no mobility in his face, no movement, nothing about him that warmed.
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