When she finished her last cadence, Carolyn and Thomas begged her to play encores. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. “I am frightened now. Let me go, Sir. ” “You are a marvellous courier,” she declared, as they passed into the street. 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. The agony on the sands now ceased to puzzle her.
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