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. ” “I thought I explained—” “I don’t think you can have heard me,” said her father; “I have told you to come home. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. “I was lonely.
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