Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. “Miserable bounder,” he murmured. Mike chimed in. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. But still she knew they were not right, and at times they became a horrible obsession as of something waiting for her round the corner.
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