Her tone was hoarse with passion. 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. “Believe me, I know. “You too were deceived. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. Like the parrot, she could memorize the lines, but she could not understand them. —'They have,' says he. ‘And it is me you dare accuse? It is yourself you should arrest. You are restless, aggressive, critical with all the crude unthinking criticism of youth.
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