\" She fibbed. But, bloodan'-'ouns! man, if ould Nick himself were to hit me a blow, I'd be afther givin' him another. You know my fixed determination. 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. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. "But, as I was saying, I was most dreadfully frightened on the night of the robbery! Though so young at the time, I remember every circumstance distinctly. “She has improved her style,” someone declared.
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