Part 6 When Ann Veronica reached her little bed-sitting-room again, every nerve in her body was quivering with shame and self-disgust. Of course there were goats. But never had the hand touched her with a father's caress; never had he taken her into his arms; never had he kissed her. Damn! I’ve splashed. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. The small bed’s hospital corners had been put into disarray by Michelle’s crying fit.
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