‘No, no, I am convinced your very first theory was right. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. ” Ann Veronica hesitated, and then stood in the open doorway and regarded her father’s stern presence. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect.
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