“Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. Such a beautiful boy he is, but his intelligence is marginal. And if you mean that he may have reconciled himself with his own father, you waste your breath. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. “I wanted to go to an art-student ball of which he disapproved. ‘Espéce de diable,’ she screamed. No, I don't, either; because——" "Well, Winny?" "I don't know what I was going to say," she added, in some confusion; "only I'm sorry you were born a gentleman.
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