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. Promise me that you will not disobey the injunctions of her whose memory we must both of us ever revere. "As yet," pursued the stranger, "Sir Montacute had placed no limit to his son's expenditure. "The feeling is dead within my breast.
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