“Dear old Daddy,” she said, “he’ll make a fearful fuss. On examining his pockets, he found about twenty guineas in gold, and some silver. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause. ” After all, it was not so easy. Life is a patchwork of impressions, of vanishing personalities. Voilà tout. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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