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. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. You did not learn that in a convent.
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