He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. “And yet I do it without compunction. "Once there," proceeded Wild, without noticing the interruption, "he's as good as in his grave. You were only one room removed from the library, see. Winifred pointed to the door. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. " "It may be; but if it shortens the distance and lightens the journey, I care not," retorted the widow, who seemed by this reproach to be roused into sudden eloquence.
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