Ann Veronica, who knew her dress became her, dropped a curtsy to her father’s regard. ” “That’s a question of detail,” said Ann Veronica. Yes, there was someone there. She tiptoed to the stand and gathered up the manuscripts which she carried to a chair by the window. ” Mr. That is what I don't understand. ” She commented, only to herself. She found herself again in the presence of some element in life about which she had been trained not to think, about which she was perhaps instinctively indisposed to think; something which jarred, in spite of all her mental resistance, with all her preconceptions of a clean and courageous girl walking out from Morningside Park as one walks out of a cell into a free and spacious world.
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