The little grating in the door, the sense of constant inspection, worried her. She had but to choose. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father. ’ ‘No, sister, I know that, but—’ ‘You needn’t tell me. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. " "I am here in Canton," she replied, simply.
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