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. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. Oblige me by acting under my guidance in the matter, Sir Rowland.
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