‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. Capes?” she heard her aunt saying. Gosse had moved forward, his pistol arm out straight, his aim true, the gun cocked. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. She had black hair, fine eyebrows, and a clear complexion; and the forces that had modelled her features had loved and lingered at their work and made them subtle and fine.
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