The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. There all the loose characters thronged, assignations were openly made, and the spectators diverted themselves with the vagaries of its miserable inhabitants. “We can,” he said, “and we will. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. “Beautiful these autumn flowers are,” said Ann Veronica, in a wide, uncomfortable pause. ‘But only think, Hilary,’ Lucy protested, evidently too involved in her theory to waste time in scolding.
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