It was the first expression of the mother's blood. “Bother it all!” she swore. Which is C?” Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black cavities of the vans. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. Ann Veronica glanced at the mirror to discover a flushed and dishevelled disorder. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. How did you get your luggage out of the house? Wasn’t it—wasn’t it rather in some respects—rather a lark? It’s one of my regrets for my lost youth. She tore open the envelope and read it.
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