Certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. But—it’s one of the things I’ve just been thinking over. “You love some one else?” he repeated. Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. Just now the waterchestnuts…. He smothered it down with such a good will that the reaction set his heart to pounding. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. Yet every now and then, during the progress of the meal, his attention apparently wandered, and leaning forward he glanced covertly at Anna with a curious mixture of expressions on his face. Her father read a draft prospectus warily, and her aunt dropped fragments of her projects for managing while the cook had a holiday. Spurlock was basically a poet, quick to recognize beauty, animate or inanimate, and to transcribe it in unuttered words.
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