. , and munched a roll and butter with hearty appetite. “I shouldn’t have waited,” she said. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. Alcohol— would you believe it?—steadies his nerves and keens his brain: which is against the laws of gravitation, you might say. But she did not know what he knew, that it would always be rolling up, enlivened by suggestion, no matter how trifling.
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