She put a hand to the lad’s cold cheek and choked on a sob. An immediate halt took place. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. “And so you have been thinking?” her father began, quoting her letter and looking over his slanting glasses at her. She flung aside every plan she had in life, every discretion. ‘Then I am not mad in the least. After feasting his eye upon this superb panorama, he was about to return, when he ascertained from a farmer that his nearest road to Willesden would be down a lane a little further on, to the right. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. The easel and palette having been packed up, and the canvass carefully removed by Austin, the party took leave of the prisoner, who was so much abstracted that he scarcely noticed their departure. Just a friendly polite suggestion.
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