Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand. “Sir John of course disapproves of me,” she remarked slowly. Not only that, but he carried himself erect— the slight slouch which had bent his shoulders had altogether disappeared. He had an objective now. She made up her mind in the train home that it should be a decisive crisis. ‘Help yourself, Hilary. Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow.
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