Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. He wanted her named Mary. Do you know what? You're some sea goddess and you're only fooling us. “Who do you think cares for your children as you dally with my husband, Clotilde?” Lucy asked.
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