She reloaded. Here, turnkey. 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. Utter silence answered him. He had dungarees on and a blue work shirt. Unlocking it, he entered the chamber, which by no means belied its external appearance. Thanks. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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