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E. " "Your secret?" demanded Trenchard, impatiently. “How do you know—why do you think that my name is Anna?” He smiled in a quietly superior way. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. Ann Veronica’s appearance was brief and undistinguished. She had intended to be quietly dignified, but he was in a smouldering rage from the beginning, and began by assuming, which alone was more than flesh and blood could stand, that the insurrection was over and that she was coming home submissively.
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