Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. Perhaps that is why I lost my ambition. He called here on his way back, after he had been to Bedlam to visit poor Mrs. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings.
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