‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. The summer arrived, speeding the Plague and with it the famine in the streets. There was no way of recalling the words; so she waited. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape.
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