The fellow is little better than a lunatic. There was a wild light in her eye, and her straight hair was out demonstrating and suffragetting upon some independent notions of its own. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. 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. You disgust me. She gloried in it: he needed her.
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