Wood. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. "You are the son of Sir Montacute Trenchard, of Ashton-Hall, near Manchester. The evil in his eyes towards her was explosive. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet.
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