It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Wood had been my father, as well as yours. “Don’t!” cried Ann Veronica, struggling faintly, and he released her. Outside in the hall he paused and thoughtfully stroked his smooth blue chin. The destroying angel hurried by, shrouded in his gloomiest apparel. She found next morning, when she came to this advertisement answering, that it was more difficult than she had supposed. Will you lend me the money for my ticket to London?” “With all the pleasure in the world,” he answered heartily.
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