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. It was just such a bedroom as she would have chosen for herself. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. ‘Jacques!’ Melusine dropped to her haunches beside his inert form, feeling for the wound. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals.
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