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. " He did not pause to consider how she had learned that he had imagination; he comprehended only the direct challenge. Never had he been so intrigued. " "What for? What do you want of them?" "Why, they are … yours. ‘But for how long?’ Lady Bicknacre asked apprehensively. “My dear,” she said, when she could get her breath, “you must come home at once. He never retires to rest till daybreak—if at all.
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