I had to sell out, you see, when my father died, for the estate is in my hands. You speak as one injured—as though I had been the one to take your name—as though you had been the one to make sacrifices. ‘That I do not yet know. She entered the last room, his bedroom. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. “I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. ” He said.
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