She was noisy and hilarious and enthusiastic, and her hair was always abominably done. But she must stop him getting away. ‘Of course she don’t understand,’ snapped Charvill irascibly. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. The telegram dispatched, his obligation cancelled, Ah Cum proceeded homeward, chuckling occasionally. He was clearing up these difficulties by tracing a partially obliterated suture the Scotchman had overlooked when the door from the passage opened, and Manning came into his universe. 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. Somehow logic could not explain her.
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