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‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. Ann Veronica had come down thinking of nothing in the world but her inflexible resolution to go to the dance in the teeth of all opposition. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat.
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