And there arose too, a background of shouts. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion.
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