” Ann Veronica thought. "My father!" she whispered. Such apartments as she saw were either scandalously dirty or unaccountably dear, or both. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. She had time in the afternoons to do crewelwork and embroidery, no longer occupied by the constant spinning of wool. Her aunt went off at a tangent. " "If in my power—certainly. ” “I won’t keep you very long, daddy,” said Ann Veronica.
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