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. ” “You mean you’re going to run away with me?” He asked in semi-seriousness. That was life. There, that sounds frightfully involved, doesn’t it, but perhaps you can make out what I mean. There is a button loose on that coat under your pillow. You have never felt the hearts of all hardened against you; have never heard the jeer or curse from every lip; nor endured the insult and the blow from every hand. "Is it poison?" she asked.
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