He had grabbed a tiny remote control and flew the thing around the table, landing it there and turning it off. “I think,” he said, “that I am right. “Damn!” said Ann Veronica to herself, rousing herself for a conflict. . Waving a white flag, naturally. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back.
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