It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. On the other hand the two young men who sat on either side of Anna were already throwing murderous glances at the newcomer. “I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. Half a minute, Vee. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him.
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