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 stared at his pleading face. He drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. For what she lacked in appearance, Sheila compensated in gossip. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak.
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