“Come, daddy,” said Ann Veronica, following her husband and Miss Stanley; and in the fulness of her heart she gave a friendly squeeze to the parental arm. The walls rocked, the footrail of the bed wavered, and the girl's head had the nebulosity of a composite photograph. “I wonder—I wonder if we shall ever get like that. ” John traced his finger over the meeting point of her breast and her ribcage as they lay naked on his unmade bed. "The key," replied the widow. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses.
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