Spurlock was invariably at the high desk in the early morning, poring over ledgers, and giving the beach and the stores an occasional glance. Of course, he had no idea who I was. Ann Veronica was lying on her bed in a darkling room staring at the ceiling. “I will put the question,” Drummond said gravely. Her foster father had been outside for most of the morning, working on trimming the maple trees and mowing the lawn. “She has refused to listen to you?” “She has behaved in a most extraordinary manner,” he answered.
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