For I still love her mother. As he hesitated, unable to make up his mind what to do for the best, a heavy rumbling on the cobbles penetrated his absorption. “I do not know what you mean,” he said, “but if you are referring to any little coolness since our marriage let us never speak of it again. 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.
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