He put down his hat and umbrella, rested his hands on his hips, and regarded Ann Veronica firmly. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. Sir John stood upon the threshold. “I suppose all life is an affair of chances. His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. .
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