Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. "Bury her in Willesden churchyard, as she requested, on Sunday," said Jack. Hang the wench! Roding was right. But when Ruth's hand fell gently upon his bony head, he knew that no one in this house would ever offer him a kick. " "And I'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late," observed the Master.
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