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. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. “I am sure that you are. ” He glanced over at her cockeyed, and then returned his gaze to the road. “Listen,” she said. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly.
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