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. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. He stood by her side, and he suffered her hands to rest in his. Brown had admitted to the orchestra that he had never seen a better dress 247 rehearsal in the twenty-three years he had been teaching at Lincoln.
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