‘As for your dagger—’ She held out her hand palm up, as if she expected him to give her the weapon. He came in apologetically; all the old “Well, and how ARE we?” note gone; and once he asked Ann Veronica, almost furtively, “How’s Alice getting on, Vee?” Finally, on the Day, he appeared like his old professional self transfigured, in the most beautiful light gray trousers Ann Veronica had ever seen and a new shiny silk hat with a most becoming roll. She could accord her father with one grace: he was not in any manner a hypocrite. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. He yelled but he had no breath to support his own voice. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. I cannot let you go.
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