Ann Veronica realized that she was alone with the world. He was now as civil as he had just been insolent. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. 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. Wood obeyed. All along the wooden benches before it sat a profusion of soldiery, a collection of barbers in attendance, busily employed in replaiting and powdering their hair ready for a military review scheduled for this afternoon. " "Ah, my father! The way you treated him…!" "Good money after bad. Spurling. I can’t but feel it’s an undesirable complication to drag in the Charvills at this point.
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