Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her. “I don’t love him,” said Ann Veronica, getting a gleam. Shari proceeded to paint, brush, dust, slather, and blot Lucy’s face with makeup. "Don't think to deceive me by your false pretences. Like the nuns, she hardly ever looked in a mirror. ‘Now I see why you’re marrying this woman, Hilary. Paris, 18.
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