Then, quite insensibly, her queenliness had declined. "Can I help you, Jack?" asked Thames, taking up a plane. There would be ultimate misery, but it would be needless cruelty to give her a push toward it. 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. A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape.
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