And if he didn’t, what was the good of seeing him? “I wish he was a woman,” she said, “then I could make him my friend. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. ” CONTENTS ANN VERONICA CHAPTER THE FIRST CHAPTER THE SECOND CHAPTER THE THIRD CHAPTER THE FOURTH CHAPTER THE FIFTH CHAPTER THE SIXTH CHAPTER THE SEVENTH CHAPTER THE EIGHTH CHAPTER THE NINTH CHAPTER THE TENTH CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH CHAPTER THE TWELFTH CHAPTER THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER THE FOURTEENTH CHAPTER THE FIFTEENTH CHAPTER THE SIXTEENTH CHAPTER THE SEVENTEENTH ANN VERONICA CHAPTER THE FIRST ANN VERONICA TALKS TO HER FATHER Part 1 One Wednesday afternoon in late September, Ann Veronica Stanley came down from London in a state of solemn excitement and quite resolved to have things out with her father that very evening. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. “You must leave me your address if you please,” he said, as she rose to go. To his astonishment and delight it yielded to the pressure, toppled over the ledge, and sank. “Ass!” he went on, still warming. ‘But it is entirely natural that I choose my own country.
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