Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. " And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the canvass. She tried to keep her side up by declaring that he had put her into an impossible position, and he replied by shouting, “Nonsense! Nonsense! Any father in my place would have done what I did. Anna, who had thrown aside her sealskin coat, wore a tight-fitting walking dress of some dark shade.
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