Now then," he added more calmly, "I am ready to die. Her sense of humour could not wholly resist his abnormal gravity. In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. She turned with an effort. On the next morning—Sunday—the day on which he expected his mother's funeral to take place, he set out along the Harrow Road. ” Ann Veronica turned her back on the Michaelmas daisies, and faced toward the house with an air of a duty completed.
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