Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. Everyone will grumble to you confidentially—Miss Ellicot, she’s our swagger young lady, you know—up there, next to Miss White, she will tell you that it is so out of the world here, so far away from everyone one knows. ‘Well, I thought as how someone in the house in Paddington might see me hanging about outside like. I’m taking no chances. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings.
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