She cursed herself for a fool. “Look here, Ann Veronica,” he began. She was still good at following orders. “Loneliness,” she said, “is a luxury which I never permit myself. ‘Why do you think I told you about the portrait? I’d not seen it, of course, but I’d seen Miss Mary just before she got married, which is when it was painted. She has already forgotten it. "Not as I loved mine. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor.
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