Ann Veronica was much impressed by a mighty trying on and altering and fussing about Alice’s “things”—Alice was being re-costumed from garret to cellar, with a walking-dress and walking-boots to measure, and a bride’s costume of the most ravishing description, and stockings and such like beyond the dreams of avarice—and a constant and increasing dripping into the house of irrelevant remarkable objects, such as— Real lace bedspread; Gilt travelling clock; Ornamental pewter plaque; Salad bowl (silver mounted) and servers; Madgett’s “English Poets” (twelve volumes), bound purple morocco; Etc. Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. “They make me want to shout,” said Mr. ’ I wanted, as I have never wanted before, to take you up, to make you mine, to carry you off and set you apart from all the strain and turmoil of life.
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