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both with an intense desire to sneeze.
"I don't think you see," she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her
brows knitting, "how it shames and, ah!--disgraces me--AH TISHU!"
She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table.
"But, dear, think! He is your father. SHOOH!"
"That's no reason," said Ann Veronica, speaking through her handkerchief
and stopping abruptly.
Niece and aunt regarded each other for a moment over their
pocket-handkerchiefs with watery but antagonistic eyes, each far too
profoundly moved to see the absurdity of the position.
"I hope," said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with
features in civil warfare. "Better state of mind," she gasped....
Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had
slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her
hand. Her soul was full of the sense of disaster. She had made her first
fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and
this was how the universe had treated her. It had neither succumbed
to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. It had thrust her back with an
undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful
"By God!" said Ann Veronica for the first time in her life. "But I will!
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