His red hair marked him, cut short into a round shape that had the texture of a Brillo pad. ‘Moreover, no one will believe any more that Yolande is me when they see this. I did so. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. She taught me how to crochet and cross stitch. 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.
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