It was a grand life. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. Everywhere else—the law, medicine, the Stock Exchange—prejudice bars us. “By God! Ann Veronica,” he said, sighing deeply. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. She was watching him intently.
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