For her mother to betray her seemed inevitable, but the betrayal seemed worse than her fate. ” “That’s a question of detail,” said Ann Veronica. The little old lady struck like a projectile upon the resounding chest of the foremost of these, and then Ann Veronica had got past and was ascending the steps. See what a horrible rascal you've let loose upon the world!" "I'm sure, mother," rejoined Winifred, "if any one was likely to feel resentment, I was; for no one could be more frightened. "You can shave him, you know. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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