There, after protestations of friendliness and helpfulness that were almost ardent, he mounted a little clumsily and rode off at an amiable pace, looking his best, making a leg with his riding gaiters, smiling and saluting, while Ann Veronica turned northward and so came to Micklechesil. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. Father-worshipping sons are abnormal— and they’re no good.
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