" "En-shad-ay. \" She said. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. She became aware of the modelling of his ear, of the muscles of his neck and the textures of the hair that came off his brow, the soft minute curve of eyelid that she could just see beyond his brow; she perceived all these familiar objects as though they were acutely beautiful things. That is the dreadful truth. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. “You did not wish to see him particularly this evening, then?” Anna hesitated.
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