She was introduced, perhaps a little too obviously for her taste, as a girl who was standing out against her people, to a gathering that consisted of a very old lady with an extremely wrinkled skin and a deep voice who was wearing what appeared to Ann Veronica’s inexperienced eye to be an antimacassar upon her head, a shy, blond young man with a narrow forehead and glasses, two undistinguished women in plain skirts and blouses, and a middle-aged couple, very fat and alike in black, Mr. ‘What is it?’ ‘Er—shouldn’t I tell—I mean, the young lady, sir—’ ‘You can leave the young lady to me. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. She was trying by some wonderful, secret, and motionless gymnastics to restrain her tears. I don’t care WHAT happens. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. There never is much left for me. I can understand now these newspapers when they talk of your magnificent philanthropy. . “I do wish you and your father could come to some agreement. ” “That’s if we succeed. " "That I'll engage not to do. ” “Yes.
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