She had remained patently unavailable to him. Ann Veronica watched her face, vaguely sympathizing with her, vaguely disliking her physical insufficiency and her convulsive movements, and the fine eyebrows were knit with a faint perplexity. A door slammed. "But don't ever let me see them again. I don't care how soon he learns that he has lost his adopted son. Her hair had begun to grow back, it now swept to her shoulders. Her bonnet dropped off and was trampled into the gutter. We leave this room together. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past. At least that, I think, is what makes a clever woman’s independent career so much more difficult than a clever man’s.
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