Do you think it’s nothing to me to have my daughter running about London looking for odd jobs and disgracing herself?” “Sha’n’t get odd jobs,” said Ann Veronica, wiping her eyes. It is not, my dear Veronica, that I think there is any harm in you; there is not. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. I felt somehow I’d hurt you. He has a grand time.
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