He did not notice that Ann Veronica was preoccupied and heavy-eyed. This was the body of a man, apparently lifeless, and stretched upon a mattress, with his head bound up in a linen cloth, through which the blood had oosed. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. "Because it's not like you," was her answer. Her hair is like, white blonde, but trust me, it’s not her natural color. She glanced at the soft-ticking clock with the exposed brass pendulum upon the white marble mantel, and made a rapid calculation.
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