Neither father, aunt, nor brothers made a sign, and then one afternoon in early February her aunt came up in a state between expostulation and dignified resentment, but obviously very anxious for Ann Veronica’s welfare. She had been sitting on the bench for two and a half hours, which was uneventful except for the homeless men who begged for change. It had been brighter than the rest, for dawn light had come in through high unshuttered casements above the bookshelves.
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