Part 3 Ann Veronica’s father was a solicitor with a good deal of company business: a lean, trustworthy, worried-looking, neuralgic, clean-shaven man of fifty-three, with a hard mouth, a sharp nose, iron-gray hair, gray eyes, gold-framed glasses, and a small, circular baldness at the crown of his head. Gosse sneered. Ann Veronica loved beautiful things, and the beauty of undraped loveliness not least among them; but these were pictures that did but insist coarsely upon the roundness of women’s bodies. She watched the people and hummed softly to herself. It struck the major that she was very young. The afternoon was her own; but from eight until midnight she sat beside the patient. ’ Hilary’s jaw dropped open, and he stood stupidly staring, the nun’s clothing dangling from his hand. Why should she? she asked rebelliously. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. ” “No. I must go to work again.
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