He had one son, who had been co-educated, and three daughters with peculiarly jolly red hair that Ann Veronica found adorable. Between herself and yonder evil mind she had the strongest buckler God could give—love. Looking sullen, he released the handle and sat back. We made sure it was just like Gwen. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against.
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