I wanted John to be proud to be seen with me. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. “Have either of you been out of this room since you discovered what had happened?” he asked.
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