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. Already she knew that she was overstaying her welcome. He had absorbed her in a single glance, and was now defining her as he worked. “The Vote is the symbol of everything,” said Miss Brett. " "Mother!" cried Jack, in a broken voice. “Why—it’s—it’s you!” Amazement seemed to dry up the torrents of his speech. Anywhere! Moonlight and music—pleasing, you know, but quite unnecessary.
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