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. . She recognized the cloth at once, waylaid him, and with that directness of speech particularly hers she explained what she wanted. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. ‘If you are not going to visit Charvill today, I’ll escort you back to the convent in Golden Square. Not the most stringent search, conducted all morning, turned up one solitary sheet. That is very bad, certainly, and for this he was extremely sorry. . She was dressed as English girls do dress for town, without either coquetry or harshness: her collarless blouse confessed a pretty neck, her eyes were bright and steady, and her dark hair waved loosely and graciously over her ears. There was a strange quality of steel in this pretty creature.
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