And for my part, if I were inclined to exercise my benevolence at all, it should be in favour of some more deserving object than that whining, hypocritical Magdalene. “My dear,” she began, with an affectionate hand on Ann Veronica’s shoulder, “I do SO wish you would realize how it grieves your father. She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. Instead, he could not get beyond these minor details—why she wore the dress, whence she had come, and whither she was bound. ” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘My dear Veronica! how can you think of such things?’” “And then?” “She had two more cups of tea and some cake, and told me of her walk. Breakfast was laid for one, a dish of fruit and a shining coffee equipage.
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