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. Montressor’s guests. “I don’t think she quite sees the harm of those people or the sort of life to which they would draw her,” she said. Knew something was up. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. “To think that you were going to do it—and never said a word! You are a little thin, but except for that you look—you look better than ever. Some part of the stiff vigour of the man seemed to have subsided. Will you forgive me—if I say no more?” She looked at him with perplexed, earnest eyes. The effort to maintain her self-control was almost superhuman. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual.
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