“You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. ” She had not, she reflected, remembered how prominent his eyes were. Anna admitted the fact. “We’ll clean up everything tidy,” said Capes. Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. "Are you my son? Are you Jack?" "I am," replied Jack. This was his humiliation as well as hers. “And now,” said Ann Veronica surveying her apartment with an unprecedented sense of proprietorship, “what is the next step?” She spent the evening in writing—it was a little difficult—to her father and— which was easier—to the Widgetts.
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