It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. There are sentimental and traditional deferences and reverences, I know, between father and son; but that’s just exactly what prevents the development of an easy friendship. Let me make your future for you. But," said the fellow, with a laugh, "he soon contrived to make his way out on it, though.
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