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. She had no place she loved. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. Michelle and her father sat in the audience, Diane having chosen to stay home to prepare dinner. The voice of the young seaman came floating down from the masthead, and the story of the immortal lovers had begun.
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