She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. 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. ” “What!” he asked; “not a kiss?” She affected not to hear. That’s my point. Playing became a way of escape. He leaned back in a low chair, and watched her graceful movements, the play of her white hands as she bent over some wonderful machine. "Do not steel your heart against him, dear Thames," interposed Winifred. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate.
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