’ Trodger eyed her with suspicion. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. The expression, however, which would chiefly have interested a beholder, was that of settled and profound melancholy. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing.
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