She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. "You can no longer refuse to tell me the name of this youth's father, Aliva," he said. The money will last longer, and—it won’t bother you. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. Manning came into her thoughts again, an unexpected, tall, dark, self-contained presence at the Fadden. And if he would, I would not subject him to the annoyance. "No, no!" With a gesture, fierce and intolerant, she seized the Bible and thrust it out of sight, into the drawer. When I went I was refused admittance.
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