Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. He obeyed, letting the garment fall to the floor. With the extra seventy-five pounds she had put after birthing her final son, Steven, her knees weren’t in good shape to be running up and down stairs all day. He did not explain what had happened to her. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force. ” Her mind diverged to other aspects, and another type of womanhood.
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