His grip twisted her wrist. “I think,” began Ann Veronica, “that you don’t realize—” He disregarded her entirely. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. But what did he know beyond these facts? Nothing, clearly. Every movable mirror had been placed here, to discourage vanity, and since no whitewash covered the brocaded purple wallpaper, its pervasive hue gave an added sense of heaviness to the crowded chamber. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn.
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