” “You are not a coward,” she repeated, “or you would not be my friend. She had left for ever the cage, the galling leash: she was free. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. She would always be going to and fro up the Avenue, getting glimpses of Ramage, seeing him in trains. The boy was coming around.
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