She began to exercise those lures which were bred in her bone—the bones of all women. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Ann Veronica readjusted her chin on her hand. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health.
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