Part 2 In the late afternoon, as Ann Veronica was gathering flowers for the dinnertable, her father came strolling across the lawn toward her with an affectation of great deliberation. He greeted the corpulent boy at the register, whose tag read, \"MY NAME IS Jason\" with familiarity. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Rank ingratitude, I call it. “No I’m not, John.
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