Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Which, if we are not all of us very careful indeed, will be stolen from Miss Charvill. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. ‘Courage,’ urged her spouse. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end.
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