His hand went to his pocket and extracted a neat silver-mounted pistol. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. He had never wanted daughters. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. She had nothing to say for herself. . ” He shook her diminutive hand.
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