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It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. “You said you were in love with me,” said Ann Veronica; “I wanted to explain —” “I said I loved and wanted you. "But never mind who, or what I am. ‘You should rather be arresting the girl and throwing her into gaol for attempted murder. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. Not a bad man as men go, but he would sell whisky and gin. ” 109 < 15 > AN AFFAIR TO FORGET, 1965 “What was your real Mom like?” Michelle asked when they were walking to school the next day. But I never found any truth in the saying.
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