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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

first failure. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed 

self-possessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him 

to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow 

of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality. She wished he could 

smoke and dull his nerves a little. A gust of irrational impatience blew 

through her being. Well, they'd got to the pheasants, and in a little 

while he would smoke. What was it she had expected? Surely her moods 

were getting a little out of hand. 

 

She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such 

quiet determination. Her father and her husband, who had both been a 

little pale at their first encounter, were growing now just faintly 

flushed. It was a pity people had to eat food. 

 

"I suppose," said her father, "I have read at least half the novels that 

have been at all successful during the last twenty years. Three a week 

is my allowance, and, if I get short ones, four. I change them in the 

morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down." 

 

It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out 

before, never watched him critically as an equal. To Capes he was almost 

deferential, and she had never seen him deferential in the old time, 

never. The dinner was stranger than she had ever anticipated. It was 

as if she had grown right past her father into something older and 

of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a 

flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. 

 

It was a great relief to arrive at last at that pause when she could say 

to her aunt, "Now, dear?" and rise and hold back the curtain through the 

archway. Capes and her father stood up, and her father made a belated 

movement toward the curtain. She realized that he was the sort of man 

one does not think much about at dinners. And Capes was thinking that 

his wife was a supremely beautiful woman. He reached a silver cigar and 

cigarette box from the sideboard and put it before his father-in-law, 

and for a time the preliminaries of smoking occupied them both. Then 

Capes flittered to the hearthrug and poked the fire, stood up, and 

turned about. "Ann Veronica is looking very well, don't you think?" he 

said, a little awkwardly. 

 

"Very," said Mr. Stanley. "Very," and cracked a walnut appreciatively. 

 

"Life--things--I don't think her prospects now--Hopeful outlook." 

 

"You were in a difficult position," Mr. Stanley pronounced, and seemed 


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