They used to marry us off at seventeen, rush us into things before we had time to protest. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. You can think all round me. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. “Confound sex from first to last!” said Ann Veronica. Here would be a woman perfectly unrecognizable, strong, ruthless but just. I acted in plays, I studied philosophy, mathematics, and science. Standing before a mirror set on a dresser between the windows, two hands frozen in the act of adjusting a wide-brimmed hat on her head, stood a lady in a dark riding habit, her startled features turned towards the door. “Lord!” she said.
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