He was twenty-nine at the time, practically an old man. She sat very still, and his eyes rested on that ornament for a moment, and then travelled slowly to her wrist and the soft lines of her forearm. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square. The fates are never so kind to me. 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.
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