He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. He breathed heavily, as though he had been running. But Ann Veronica had still to get to her chief topic. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. Without a single ornament about her neck, or hair, wearing the plainest of black gowns, out of which her shoulders shone gleaming white, she was easily the most noticeable and the most distinguished-looking woman in the room.
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