Wood, by whom it was formerly occupied. They joined the rabble of aspiring James Deans in torn jeans and bomber jackets and girls with Clairol black hair smoking clove cigarettes. He whispered in her ear. “There is some one else whom I care for!” He laughed hardly. Except for one memorable school excursion to Paris, Ann Veronica had never yet been outside England. Very good. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. He dressed rather after the fashion of the West End than the City, and affected a cultured urbanity that somehow disconcerted and always annoyed Ann Veronica’s father extremely. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket. She had heard Alice talking and crying at the same time, a painful noise. There was a certain air of forced fortuity in his manner.
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