She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. After dinner Ann Veronica went into the drawing-room with Miss Stanley, and her father went up to his den for his pipe and pensive petrography. ” “He said, ‘Poor Alice has got no end!’” “Alice’s are different,” said Ann Veronica, after an interval. No; the future was not so dark; there was a bit of dawn visible. There's not his peer among the peerage. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. .
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