“Will you come round to the hospital?” he asked. The simile started a laugh in his throat. “Never was such an age of transition. He had had five children at irregular intervals, of whom Ann Veronica was the youngest, so that as a parent he came to her perhaps a little practised and jaded and inattentive; and he called her his “little Vee,” and patted her unexpectedly and disconcertingly, and treated her promiscuously as of any age between eleven and eight-and-twenty. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. She walked with long swinging steps, scorning the thought of buses or the tube. “I didn’t think you’d come. Wanton! Had I been one, even God would have forgiven me, understanding. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom.
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