She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. She was as pale as death, but she seemed to have lost the power of movement. 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. Promise me. "Never heard of a sing-song girl; never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girl called her that.
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