Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. She would marry him. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. The quarry had passed out into the open sea. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘Is there nothing you do not know?’ she asked faintly. Do not underestimate my power.
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