Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. She wished she could steal his smiles and keep them in a box, they had always been so precious. 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. That would come later.
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