They then swiftly mounted the stairs, and stopped before the audience-chamber. They walked across a moat of pea gravel that crunched like noisy cereal under their feet. Carefully abstaining from thrusting against each other, Ann Veronica and her father began an absurdly desperate struggle, the one to open the door, the other to keep it fastened. She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. ” “It’s the perpetual trouble,” he said, “of parent and child. She pulled away from him, placing her fingers on his lips for a moment. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. .
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