” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber. 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. For some seconds of voluminous thinking they looked at the ring between them, and neither spoke.
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