It was Annabel who caught at the paper. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled. ” “That’s rather a pity,” Annabel said. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish.
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