Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. ‘Well said, my dear. “Gellett,” he called, “just come and clear up a mess, will you? I’ve smashed some things. Let him be sure.
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