" There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. I made the pies. I am five-and-thirty, and I have knocked about in the world and tasted the quality of life. But also this must not go on. Nuns, I mean. ” Ann Veronica was about to reply, when he went on, with a still more deadly quiet: “I am not here to bandy words with you. ” She was frightened—his anger always did frighten her—and in her resolve to conceal her fright she carried a queen-like dignity to what she felt even at the time was a preposterous pitch.
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