Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. She refused to sleep in the same room with him one night, kicking him in the shins. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. I might as well be at Morningside Park. Then I threw a bucket of dirty water on his face and said, ‘Listen, asshole, let’s get one thing straight. Manning, “when I see beautiful things, or else I want to weep. “Yes,” said Ann Veronica, trying to think where they were, trying to get things plain again that had seemed plain enough in the quiet of the night.
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