I shall lose my fees and the laced coat. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with carelessly dispersed feet. There was no disgust in Ruth's heart, only an infinite pity; for only the pitiful understand. She said that your mother was only fifteen when she went to live with them. Come back—you must come back.
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