Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. Her eyebrows, pulled down by the stress of thought, now resumed their normal arches; and pleased with her discovery, she smiled. “John,” she said, “I can spare you that question. " Without another word, and accompanied by Thames, he then took his way to Dollis Hill in a state of the deepest depression. There is nothing but your pride which stands between us. She had not anticipated such a response from her classmates, but knew to be drawing them with her self-consciousness as if they were bees to pollen. ‘And your schooling?’ he pursued. ” Annabel rose to her feet.
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