One married as he wished and one against his wishes, and now here was Ann Veronica, his little Vee, discontented with her beautiful, safe, and sheltering home, going about with hatless friends to Socialist meetings and art-class dances, and displaying a disposition to carry her scientific ambitions to unwomanly lengths. The light was poor, so that she saw their gleaming faces dimly and indistinctly. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. But I liked to say it.
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