Thanks. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. “Sorry to be so terribly rude, Martin. Jolly nice girl, too. A day will come when you will thank me. “I didn’t know you were so keen on this suffrage business. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill. unless a copyright notice is included.
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