It was a look that accorded very well with the hayloft setting that had come to mind. And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. They had shared almost seventy five wonderful years there in nearly utter seclusion before it came time to move on. She had found that proof. 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. "What of her?" exclaimed Jack, starting up.
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