“Go on,” he said. The more haste, the worse speed—better the feet slip than the tongue. The doctor walked over to the bed, folded his arms across his chest and stared down into the unabashed eyes of his patient. Ovarian cancer. One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. Once again the cavalcade was in motion, and winding its way by St. “What have you done?” 212 “It is your own fault, Lucia. This is not true at all. He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. “Well, no,” she answered.
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