She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting under the dim lights. The movement was fatal to her son. These sisters moved in a grown-up world inaccessible to Ann Veronica’s sympathies, and to a large extent remote from her curiosity. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures.
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