About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. Sheppard, faintly. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. 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. ‘I do not need for you to tell me this. “You’re getting too old to put things off, John. Do you know what? You're some sea goddess and you're only fooling us.
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