Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. ‘I can argue with him very well indeed. Fell to sin, did Martha. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. And you talk like that! What the devil have you been up to, to land in this bog?" It was a cast at random. It was free of leering men, unthinkable punishments, and human evil.
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