Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. What had been happening all this time? ‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’ ‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said.
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