” She side-stepped into his living room from behind a square white column. She pointed suddenly at the portrait. His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. Her aunt had a once exasperating habit of interrupting her work with demands for small household services, but now Ann Veronica rendered them with a queer readiness of anticipatory propitiation. “Very well,” said her father. If only we are not divided. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Listen to me, Winifred. She was silent, the ghost of a fading smile passed from her lips. He has escaped. ’ ‘What, for not wanting to marry you?’ ‘Imbecile.
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