Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. ’ The possibility was indeed remote, for there had been no trouble with France since the Peace of Versailles had been signed six years ago. Even the love of a mother does not sway him. "Strange!" observed the Master; "I thought he'd been at my elbow all this time. " "Do not speak of it," rejoined Thames, with a look of horror. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself.
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