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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. We were only—les autres. He had no use for Ann Veronica; he had never had a use for her since she had been too old to sit upon his knee. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred.
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