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Ann Veronica ignored her friend’s confusion. " "I'm satisfied with your assurance," replied the carpenter, drily. "Let me see," replied Wood; "exactly twelve years ago last November. ’ A trifle discomposed at being caught examining his surroundings, Gerald was provoked into retort. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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