Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. You are wholly in my power. All concerned in the dark transaction must have perished. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers.
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