Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin.
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