‘There was a priest, the father confessor, you understand. “It was best for me to know. She dressed quickly, pulling on white jeans and a red tee shirt. He was a man who in all things classified without nuance, and for him there were in the matter of age just two feminine classes and no more—girls and women. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt. The quiet encounter and home-coming Ann Veronica and she had contemplated was entirely disorganized by this misadventure; there were no adequate explanations, and after they had settled things at Ann Veronica’s lodgings, they reached home in the early afternoon estranged and depressed, with headaches and the trumpet voice of the indomitable Kitty Brett still ringing in their ears. Of course, there'll be a few kinks to straighten out.
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