" "Never count your chickens till they're hatched," observed Mrs. 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. Then to the Feathers, in Drury Lane. You can tell me the rest another time. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly.
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