Part 4 But presently, as she sat on the one antimacassared red silk chair and surveyed her hold-all and bag in that tidy, rather vacant, and dehumanized apartment, with its empty wardrobe and desert toilet-table and pictureless walls and stereotyped furnishings, a sudden blankness came upon her as though she didn’t matter, and had been thrust away into this impersonal corner, she and her gear. Get pen and paper for the missie. You’re of age— you’re of age. Basically a kindly man but made cynical and derisive by sordid contacts, O'Higgins had almost forgotten that there was such a thing as unselfishness. Whatever anticipation Ann Veronica had formed of this vanished in the reality. Capes flashed to an understanding of her intention, sprang to his feet, and opened the door for her retreat.
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