"I suppose I was mistaken," returned Gay. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. She lifted her shoulders in an eloquent shrug. "You are angry?" "Very. 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. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault.
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