The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. These realizations rushed into Ann Veronica’s mind and hardened her heart against him. No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on.
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