“No, I’d like to. It was a cheerful, irresponsible, shamelessly hard-up family in the key of faded green and flattened purple, and the girls went on from the High School to the Fadden Art School and a bright, eventful life of art student dances, Socialist meetings, theatre galleries, talking about work, and even, at intervals, work; and ever and again they drew Ann Veronica from her sound persistent industry into the circle of these experiences. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. Very well, I give up. She could see that she was now the exclusive object of the boy’s attention. They are long gone. The child has sprung into a youth; the youth has become a man; the man has already begun to feel the advances of age. “Go it, miss!” cried one. She wanted to take him in her arms and hush him, but she sat perfectly still. “I’d have to be blown up into a thousand pieces.
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