In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with carelessly dispersed feet. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. A little Cockney recovered it, and made ridiculous attempts to get to her and replace it. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. She had unaccountable gleams of sympathy with and liking for him.
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