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ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-1-2
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-3-4
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-5-6
ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER-7
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-1-2
ANN VERONICA GATHERS POINTS OF VIEW-3
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-1-2
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-3-4-5
THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS-6-7
THE CRISIS-1-2-3-4
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-1-2-3
THE FLIGHT TO LONDON-4-5-6
EXPOSTULATIONS-1-2-3-4
EXPOSTULATIONS-5-6
IDEALS AND A REALITY-1-2
IDEALS AND A REALITY-3-4
IDEALS AND A REALITY-5-6-7
BIOLOGY-1-2
BIOLOGY-3-4-5-6
BIOLOGY-7-8-9
DISCORDS-1
DISCORDS-2-3-4
DISCORDS-5-6-8-9
THE SUFFRAGETTES-1-2-3
THE SUFFRAGETTES-4-5
THOUGHTS IN PRISON-1-2-3-4-5-6
ANN VERONICA PUTS THINGS IN ORDER-1-2-3-4-5-6-7
THE SAPPHIRE RING-1-2-3-4
THE SAPPHIRE RING-5-6
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-1-2-3
THE COLLAPSE OF THE PENITENT-4-5-6
THE LAST DAYS AT HOME-1-2-3
IN THE MOUNTAINS-1-2-3-4
IN THE MOUNTAINS-5-6-7-8-9-10-11
IN PERSPECTIVE-1-2-3

raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained 

serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under 

the eye of the world. 

 

She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices 

of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by 

the butcher's shop that led to the field path to her home. Outside the 

post-office stood a no-hatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was 

elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. At the sight of her he became 

rigid and a singularly bright shade of pink. She made herself serenely 

unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent 

her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. 

 

"Umph!" he said, and regarded his letter doubtfully before consigning it 

to the pillar-box. "Here goes," he said. Then he hovered undecidedly for 

some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a 

whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. 

 

Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her 

face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation. "It's either now or 

never," she said to herself.... 

 

Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, 

come off. It consisted, like pre-Roman Gaul, of three parts. There was 

first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the 

railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, 

yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the 

little clump of shops about the post-office, and under the railway arch 

was a congestion of workmen's dwellings. The road from Surbiton and 

Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the 

ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little 

red-and-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very 

brassy window-blinds. Behind the Avenue was a little hill, and an 

iron-fenced path went over the crest of this to a stile under an 

elm-tree, and forked there, with one branch going back into the Avenue 

again. 

 

"It's either now or never," said Ann Veronica, again ascending this 

stile. "Much as I hate rows, I've either got to make a stand or give in 

altogether." 

 

She seated herself in a loose and easy attitude and surveyed the 

backs of the Avenue houses; then her eyes wandered to where the new 

red-and-white villas peeped among the trees. She seemed to be making 


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