She no longer felt sick or dizzy, her muscles returned to a relaxed, supple state. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. Morningside Park was a suburb that had not altogether, as people say, come off. “You’ve no right to badger me like this, Veronica,” he said. Sometimes she missed her cue and nodded affirmatively when the gesture should have been the reverse; and Prudence would send her a sharp glance of disapproval.
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