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. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. In the discussion there was the oddest mixture of things that were personal and petty with an idealist devotion that was fine beyond dispute. ‘But a spy I am not.
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