. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. ’ She sagged a little suddenly, as if the painful memories in her mind had exhausted her body. The fellow swore lustily, in a voice which Jack instantly recognised as that of Quilt Arnold, and vainly attempted to rise and draw his sword. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. " "But she would understand you; whereas she will never understand her father. That window there…. It was horrible, but what could she do? She meant to live her own life, and he meant, with contempt and insults, to prevent her.
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