The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. What could I do at home? The other’s a crumple-up—just surrender. Her aunt arrived about halfpast ten, in black and with an unusually thick spotted veil. She danced with two others.
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