None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. Fortescue had not much ability to keep her sister, and a little while after her mother’s death Ann Veronica met Gwen suddenly on the staircase coming from her father’s study, shockingly dingy in dusty mourning and tearful and resentful, and after that Gwen receded from the Morningside Park world, and not even the begging letters and distressful communications that her father and aunt received, but only a vague intimation of dreadfulness, a leakage of incidental comment, flashes of paternal anger at “that blackguard,” came to Ann Veronica’s ears. Wanted her out of the way because he had been afraid of her, afraid of himself! He, at fifty-four! Then into this void poured a flaming anger, a blind and unreasoning anger. See how he gets on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under his hands. “Yes. ” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. In the afternoon he probably loafs in his pajamas. The thought made her exquisitely happy. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. That's a queer yarn. "I've done with you.
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