He caressed her tenderly, with no trace of the Sebastian who had previously knocked her off her feet with a slap across the mouth. This getting up at dawn—real dawn—and working until seven was a distinct novelty. Annabel thought, and thought again. We were alike. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing.
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