Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. ‘I’ll wager that militiaman never rode the animal, then. Nice, of course. 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. That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. And for many years, that was the way it was.
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