All the furniture was moved, all the meals were disarranged, and everybody, Ann Veronica included, appeared in new, bright costumes. “Hospital? What for? What’s the matter with me?” Courtlaw’s voice sank to a whisper. It must be some days before you can arrange for her to make an identification. Her father was distinctly irascible, and disposed more than ever to hide away among the petrological things—the study was turned out. The one problem was that it didn’t fly. Her family had hosted a feast in his honor for which they had taken weeks to prepare: with braised capons and lobster sausages and all sorts of delicious spiced stews her mother had made from secret recipes. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another.
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