Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. She could feel Michelle’s nervousness leaching into her spine. I'm not quite such a greenhorn as Shotbolt, Jack, whatever you may think. He'll be here two or three days. But his words were borne away by the driving wind. ’ ‘Very true.
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