“You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. “Tell him that he is mad. “A joke! Sir John, if you had presented yourself here an hour ago we should have greeted you in pained silence. That was life. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. At last—I told a story. 1. She dared not say the word aloud, not even to herself. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths.
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