And then you go—and half throttle me. That is the dreadful truth. Fortescue had not much ability to keep her sister, and a little while after her mother’s death Ann Veronica met Gwen suddenly on the staircase coming from her father’s study, shockingly dingy in dusty mourning and tearful and resentful, and after that Gwen receded from the Morningside Park world, and not even the begging letters and distressful communications that her father and aunt received, but only a vague intimation of dreadfulness, a leakage of incidental comment, flashes of paternal anger at “that blackguard,” came to Ann Veronica’s ears. What had been happening all this time? ‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’ ‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said. I will teach you how to make that little sufficient. The whole place had come to life, the magic seeped out of the walls. Get me an interview with her. “I have scarcely left his side. Every day in the year you will witness such scenes. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically.
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