Lucy followed. He remained standing by the stem of the proa, his glance roving investigatingly. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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