The man’s passion was infectious. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. Bodies! Bodies! Horrible things! We are souls. Then he threw the letter at me. There were mysterious sounds, all of them musical. ‘Ah, bah, it is enough,’ she cried, and turning, ran out of the room. Until then we mean to keep on hammering away. 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.
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