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. Lady Angela shrugged her shoulders. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. We will find some way out of it.
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