As we turned the corner of the street, I noticed that the electric light was burning in this room. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. ” “Why not?” “Free woman—and equal. The wine bubbled and seethed; and the exquisite bouquet of oranges permeated the room. “And, you know, you’re altering us all. ” She answered. 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.
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