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. ‘It must be painful. "I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. But it was under false names, so I dare say it ain’t valid. "And so this is a diamond," added he, contemplating the brilliant from the hollow of his hand: "it does sparkle almost as brightly as your ogles. William Kneebone, Of me, Sir, you shall never be bone.
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