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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

of that? What will this lover of yours make of that?" 

 

At intervals Ann Veronica demanded to go, declaring her undying resolve 

to repay him at any cost, and made short movements doorward. 

 

But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. She 

emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit 

landing. She went past three keenly observant and ostentatiously 

preoccupied waiters down the thick-carpeted staircase and out of the 

Hotel Rococo, that remarkable laboratory of relationships, past a tall 

porter in blue and crimson, into a cool, clear night. 

 

 

 

Part 6 

 

 

When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve 

in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. 

 

She threw hat and coat on the bed and sat down before the fire. 

 

"And now," she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into 

indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, "what am I 

to do? 

 

"I'm in a hole!--mess is a better word, expresses it better. I'm in a 

mess--a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! 

 

"Do you hear, Ann Veronica?--you're in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable 

mess! 

 

"Haven't I just made a silly mess of things? 

 

"Forty pounds! I haven't got twenty!" 

 

She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the 

lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. 

 

"This is what comes of being a young woman up to date. By Jove! I'm 

beginning to have my doubts about freedom! 

 

"You silly young woman, Ann Veronica! You silly young woman! The 

smeariness of the thing! 

 

"The smeariness of this sort of thing!... Mauled about!" 

 

She fell to rubbing her insulted lips savagely with the back of her 

hand. "Ugh!" she said. 

 

"The young women of Jane Austen's time didn't get into this sort of 

scrape! At least--one thinks so.... I wonder if some of them did--and 

it didn't get reported. Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. Most of 

them didn't, anyhow. They were properly brought up, and sat still and 

straight, and took the luck fate brought them as gentlewomen should. 

And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety. They 

knew they were all Bogey in disguise. I didn't! I didn't! After all--" 

 

For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints 

as though it was the one desirable thing. That world of fine printed 

cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and 

refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the 


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