Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. She did this to please him. He felt hands tugging at him, mysterious creatures with long fingers and sharp nails that pulled at his flesh. Still, her face never betrayed this distraction. I—well, I borrowed Anna’s name. In a very definite sense we are in the wrong —hopelessly in the wrong. ” He read it in winter in the evening after dinner, and Ann Veronica associated it with a tendency to monopolize the lamp, and to spread a very worn pair of dappled fawn-skin slippers across the fender.
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