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Gregory B. ‘But this is not to my blame, grandpére. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Stanley. My dear! we’ve had so many moments! I used to go over the times we’d had together, the things we’d said—like a rosary of beads. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. ‘Why, what have I said?’ ‘You said to me my name. “You understand, then,” he was saying, “you understand?” “I understand,” said Ann Veronica, tear-wet and flushed with a reciprocal passion, but standing up to him with an equality that amazed even herself, “I understand. Thank him, not me, man.
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