He smiled. He spoke only when he saw the sing-song girl he wanted to buy. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "All right," replied Sheppard, with affected indifference. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy.
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