Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. She fell with a plop onto her rear end in the mud and sat dumbly like a statue, water eddying around her. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them.
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