‘Alors, I see it. “I wonder what he takes me for?” When presently she got down from the stile a certain note of internal conflict, a touch of doubt, had gone from her warm-tinted face. "I will struggle no longer with destiny. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. ” Lucy appeared and appraised him briefly, nonchalantly. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times.
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