Kevin Chen, Martin’s father, was equally stately, his dark brown eyes bright with the fire of extreme intelligence. ’ He nodded. Ann Veronica was one of the few young people—and one must have young people just as one must have flowers—one could ask to a little gathering without the risk of a painful discord. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery.
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