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” “And he accepted meekly?” “Practically. . ” The conversation hung. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. 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. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. Chapter VIII “WHITE’S” Northwards, away from the inhospitality of West Kensington, rumbled the ancient four-wheel cab, laden with luggage and drawn by a wheezy old horse rapidly approaching its last days. "Was I out of my head?" "Yes.
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