She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. She sat perfectly still, however. He thought, too, of the fretful invalid who lay in the next room to his, whose money had created his business and made his position in the world. 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. “I’ll run, too,” she volunteered. Her knees shook, her breath came fast, she almost felt the lurid effect of those tiny patches of rouge upon her pallor-stricken cheeks. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came.
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