“Miss Pellissier, isn’t it?” he said. She tugged at my coat and said, ‘I know of the blue-eyed maid. By-the-bye, do you recognize that?” Anna looked and gasped. 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. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. Nicholas had not dared to tell his father about the Valade girl. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. Let your father—if he chooses, leave all his wealth to his adopted son.
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