’ He had abandoned the “sir”, Gerald noted, realising that the footman’s respect for him had dropped sharply. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. Something seemed awry. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. Ah, Thierry and Poussaint, if my memory serves me. Ann Veronica passed from her aunt to her father, and put her arms about him and kissed his cheek.
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