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“Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. It’s not fair to you. The roofs and gables of many of the houses had been torn off. "I am expected, I find," observed Jack, glancing at the well-covered board. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. It was a hoax, it was the only thing possible, until she heard Cathy say, “Let me hold those for you. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. “Wow, congratulations, Martin. Perhaps marriage hurt. Do you know how late it is?” She nodded. The thought made her exquisitely happy. They must have a key.
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