. She held out both her hands. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. ” “There is no one else who has a key to your rooms?” “No one except my maid, who is away in Wiltshire. .
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