” Anna never flinched. A full-curled wig descended half-way down his back and shoulders; a neckcloth of "right Mechlin" was twisted round his throat so tightly as almost to deprive him of breath, and threaten him with apoplexy; he had lace, also, at his wrists and bosom; gold clocks to his hose, and red heels to his shoes. “You see,” said Ann Veronica, with the air of one who shares a difficulty, “I’ve promised to go. The smile had become a laugh. Books! She knew now what had saved her—her mother's hand, reaching down from heaven, had set the giver's flaming eyes upon the covers of these books. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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