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He claimed me for his wife, and showed to every one a marriage certificate. Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “You would have been treated differently in the Old World, the one where I came from. 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. “That young man was giving a luncheon party to a dozen friends at the Café de Paris to-day. I am sure that he can be got rid of. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things.
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