’ She bit her lip, frowning. Kneebone, what with flirting with Mrs. He walked her home. She crept behind the open door and pounced on him when he came out of the bathroom, knocking him onto the floor with a loud thud. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. The evening was warm and inviting, one meant to be spent outdoors. A middle-aged countrywoman, plump of cheek, and a little shy. A sacrifice. ” She laughed. And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ” “I thought you would find that out. Little things, almost impalpable, had happened to justify that doubt; something in his manner had belied his words. ‘And it is not only a question of her identity, but a matter of her life as well. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours.
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