” “How?” He asked. There was a maiden aunt who lived in the North who might let her live there for a few weeks until she disappeared. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. We have to hang about in the interval. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother.
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