I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. He filled her glass with champagne. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. “You know, my mom caught me smoking once with Missy. This time he couldn't get far. ‘Danged if I ever hear the like,’ he repeated blankly.
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