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. She’s naïve, and yet uncannily shrewd at times, and you daren’t rely on anything she says. “Anna! Thank God I have found you at last. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. Austin, or any man of similar dimensions, would have found wholly impossible. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. She slipped on a white clingy imitation silk tee-shirt, a sexy number that Shari had bought on super-sale at the Limited.
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