She kept thinking she was thinking about Mr. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you. In another minute, the tramp of horses' feet told that the perpetrators of the outrage had effected their escape. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away. They travelled past the few idle sightseers who had braved the uninviting evening to see what the Suffragettes might be doing; they pulled up unchallenged within thirty yards of those coveted portals. The gulf between rich and poor was perhaps greater in France, but by all accounts it was not the canaille who were responsible for the present turmoil. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be.
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