All was darkness, horror, confusion, ruin. 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. "What has delayed you?" demanded the knight impatiently. “I don’t suppose you’ll be able to do it much,” said Ann Veronica. “La belle ‘Alcide,’ wasn’t it? Annabel Pellissier was her real name. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes.
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