Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. 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. “Why?” “I still love you. ’ ‘Yes, but what is it, Jacques?’ demanded the lady. Gently each time Ruth drew down the arms. I’d rather not go,” she added. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. Flattened flowers aren’t for the likes of us. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose.
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