" "How long will you be here?" "To-morrow night. ” “He said, ‘Poor Alice has got no end!’” “Alice’s are different,” said Ann Veronica, after an interval. She was alarmed at how little her husband Gianfrancesco packed for the trip, leaving behind his best scarlet and black lucco, which he wore for every business and political meeting. There’s hardly a night she doesn’t sneak out of the house. “He is not—I don’t like him. 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. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. She doubted if Manning would even listen to that.
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