It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences. The Magdalene. Annabel, come to the door with me,” she added a little abruptly. “David,” she said, “you are not a coward, are you?” “I do not know,” he muttered. These were so outside her experience that she found it possible to thrust them almost out of sight by saying they would be “all right” in confident tones to herself. She was shaking violently when she entered the side door of the house. “Please don’t be sad.
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