The doctor sensed that his bolt had gone wrong, but he could not tell how or why. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. Not Trodger. No police officers or lurking storms were anywhere in sight. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Meantime, every preparation had been made outside for his departure. ” “You and your father?” Lucy asked.
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