The wings stopped. Then the incredible happened. I didn’t understand before that letter. 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. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. His expression became pained. “I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury.
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