He resumed his listening. “You need not be alarmed,” he said. Sheppard was enabled to take possession of the premises. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. I’m sorry.
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