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Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. F. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. Miss Miniver learned of her flight and got her address from the Widgetts. " "On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. But it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you. Your father has forbidden you to go!’” “Well?” “She said, ‘I hate being horrid to you and father, but I feel it my duty to go to that ball!’” “Felt it her duty!” “‘Very well,’ I said, ‘then I wash my hands of the whole business.
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