’ While he trod a deliberate path through the pink saloon towards the door, Gerald encouraged a flow of harmless chatter about the people Madame had met and the parties she had attended. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. Then he did give way a bit. Ann Veronica stared for a moment in amazement at this dark-green object that clashed as it was put down. 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. “Stop! Don’t put your face there.
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