Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. The coolies proceeded at a swinging, mincing trot, which gave to the suspended seat a dancing action similar to that of a suddenly agitated hangingspring of a birdcage. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. Even if you were sick in the mind and did not understand what you were doing, it's a mighty cruel thing you have done. She found herself talking to Capes in an undertone of rational admission. Never had her father explained.
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