‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. Her amusement fled and she stared at him, as a slow thump began beating at her breast. Wood. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
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