Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. ‘Though he didn’t mean it. "But pray tell me if her husband has escaped?" "Her husband!" echoed Jonathan scornfully. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. She stole the opportunity to peer at his departing figure from the closed curtains of the front room window, his shoulders slumped forward, his posture and his ego slightly deflated. She detected that the young officer’s shoulders tensed whenever she moved in the back of his 94 car. ‘Adieu, imbecile,’ she threw at him gleefully. Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. Guns were impossible. Sometimes these dreams are simple and tender; sometimes they are magnificent.
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