“You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. 6. ” Sir John smiled and congratulated himself upon his insight. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. 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. ” It was nearly half an hour before they dared ask him the question. "What motive have you for concealment?" he demanded.
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