He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. She had been careless. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. In the afternoon my brain and fingers leap to their work because you have been with me. You're luck.
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