The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. 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. It was a dark mysterious place, and what it was used for no one exactly knew; but it was called by those who had seen it the Well Hole. "I am Owen Wood, at your service. . Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. I am clear I want you.
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