She cried for hours but would not scream as her mother was packed into a marble coffin. Katy’s face was vapid and undistinguishable from a crowd, but pretty in an abstract sense, like the face of a baby doll. His wife's portrait had been removed from the walls, and the place it had occupied was only to be known by the cord by which it had been suspended. It occurred to Ann Veronica once that she had known him when he was younger, but day had followed day, and each had largely obliterated the impression of its predecessor.
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