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. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. ” “I had to,” she repeated. “Oh dear, I’m not dressed. It had been her father’s surname, and it had sounded far more innocuous and American than Iovelli.
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