Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. I want to stand between you and all the force and vileness of the world. He “went in” for microscopy in the unphilosophical Victorian manner as his “hobby. ‘You would read my mind?’ Gerald was pretty certain he already had, but he did not say so. They had cried a little, both. She wondered why he was so distinctive, so unlike other men, and it never occurred to her for some time that this might be because she was falling in love with him. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said.
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