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Ann Veronica’s experiences of men had been among more stable types—Teddy, who was always absurd; her father, who was always authoritative and sentimental; Manning, who was always Manning. The place to which you went was not the English Embassy, and the whole performance was a fraud. So proas loaded with nuts were always landing on the beach. Wood sank, submissively, into a chair, while his daughter hastened to execute her arbitrary parent's commission. He depended upon her, for his medicine, for his drink, for the little amusement it was now permissible to give him. Now then. Finally she decided that even for an hotel she must look round, and that meanwhile she would “book” her luggage at Waterloo.
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