She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. In that sense, my strategy worked. He had. The tension was palpable. 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. "The door!—the door!—death!" he added, as he tried the handle, "it is locked—and I am unarmed. He has helped me out of scrapes though, no end of times.
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