It is not well that a daughter should talk to her father as Ruth talked to hers that day. "Stop thief!" roared Jonathan, who perceived the fugitive hurrying along a street towards Hatton Garden. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. "He'll learn that his plans will be defeated. I want to leave it for ever. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. It’s on the horse.
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