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Presently she was going through a swaying, noisy crowd, whose faces grinned and stared pitilessly in the light of the electric standards. John was acutely focused upon her now, just as she had wanted him to be. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. A neat tale, giving little away. The Ragged Edge.
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