It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. Obeying some fine instinct, she had come to the prison in a dark veil, but she had pushed this up to kiss Ann Veronica and never drawn it down again. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred. Collins, you can go now. “Tut, tut!” he said.
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