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” Ann Veronica hesitated, and then stood in the open doorway and regarded her father’s stern presence. "So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. Sheppard, in a voice of agony. She had even played in an opera by Verdi once, but had to dress as a boy to do it. Then, very awkwardly, he took a stool and placed it at the end of Ann Veronica’s table, and sat down. ‘It must seem strange to you at first. It presented itself in the likeness of a great, gray, dull world—a brutal, superstitious, confused, and wrong-headed world, that hurt people and limited people unaccountably.
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