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. At least I rather hoped I might spend my time chasing smugglers, which would have afforded some excitement. His subconscious sensed the unnaturalness of it and recoiled. Part 2 The next morning was as dark and foggy as if it was mid-November instead of early March.
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