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 dog was, in a sense, a gift of the gods. She went to market every day to fetch the daily bread and more herbs for more medicines and potions, plus treats for the apprentices made of honey and almond paste. ‘You do not try. "Women ought never to show themselves on these occasions, unless they can behave themselves properly. " "I was never going to tell anybody," she added. You can’t do without an agent, and there’s no one can run you better than I can.
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