Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. Her dainty shoes were soiled with dust and there was a great tear in her skirt. Why, then, did he touch it? As he climbed heavily into his chair, she was able to note the little beads of sweat under the cracked nether lip. Mary Remenham had passed on her every feature to the daughter whose advent had taken her from this world.
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