There was a strained, eager expression on his face. He walked with bent head. To compare me to a starving pig. 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. So far the thing was acceptable enough. Gerald’s task was to stop him from doing so. “Go on!” she commanded. A vein of conviction mingled with his burlesque.
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