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. Manning, relinquishing his cup without answering her question, “when I hear you talk of earning a living, it’s as if I heard of an archangel going on the Stock Exchange—or Christ selling doves. And I get myself dirty. Some of their specimens—wonderfully selected, wonderfully got up. ‘Alors, pig!’ she cried and lunged in quarte. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. What are you going to tell me?" "Nothing. ‘Her own,’ Gerald replied. ‘That is imbecile.
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