He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. That’s what I mean. 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. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion. She took a deep breath. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles.
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