The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. Always her prayers ended—'And may my beautiful mother guide me!' No. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind. ” She could practically hear the self-deprecating thoughts racing across his mind, the failed hours of rehearsed lines. Something in her tone made him look up. Mr. \"Uh-oh. 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. . Neither would she allow herself to feel guilty nor would she allow him to find a way into the house. I’ve never found them hostile.
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