She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a respectable member of society. "Whose house do you want, master?" said the man, touching his hat. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. ) He hesitated. There was no answer, just grunting, so she repeated the question in Latin, then in Greek, to which Rhea responded. The late afternoon, en effet.
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