On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. But never mind that. “I wonder,” he said, “how you would like to be made love to—boldly or timorously or sentimentally. . An early bird clarinetist burst through in a long black skirt, swishing like a bell. She broke a cobblestone over his head and he was out. 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. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet.
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