Perhaps she might never come back to that breakfast-room again. When he returned, it was always the same. 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. ” She said warmly. “What a hideous repertoire! If you are in earnest about wanting to earn money, why on earth don’t you accept an engagement here?” “An engagement?” she queried. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly.
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