The turning of the key startled her, but she did not see how she could make an objection. . The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. How did you like Tristan?” Ann Veronica paused the fraction of a second before her reply came. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. She had had to do away with many a leering foster father since she had started frequenting foster homes in the middle of the century.
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