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. She intercepted the glance the spinsters exchanged, and immediately sensed that she had said too much. "I think you're all bewitched," she cried. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself. At the first blow, Mrs.
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