He declined supper, but took wine. 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. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. Bravo!—the best cly-faker of 'em all couldn't have done it better. Do you think that I am utterly selfish?” She raised her eyebrows.
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