” Courtlaw was pale and dishevelled. “Beats me. Anna found herself next Sydney Courtlaw, with his friend close at hand. Her face expressed nothing. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Ann Veronica looked up at him and found him regarding her with eyes that were almost woebegone, and into which, indeed, he was trying to throw much more expression than they could carry.
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